Cat and Mouse
by Waffleface
Summary: Half a year after the events of the game, Luka tries to figure out what Bayonetta means to him...and what he might mean to her.
1. Chapter 1

_Hey all. This is my first fic so feedback and criticism is welcome. Rating it M just to be safe. No lemons here...at least not yet. :P_

_Being late to the party, i have just recently acquired Bayonetta and am having way too much fun playing it. After some of the(spoilz) Bayonetta/Luka scenes, especially towards the end of the game, I resolved to write a Bayo/Luka fic. A new Bayonetta fic hasn't been uploaded in a while, either. I have several more chapters completed but will wait to see how this is received critically before publishing any more. Props to I'm Iller for being teh bestest beta reader eva._

**Warning: Spoilers**

**Disclaimer**:I do not own Bayonetta or any related characters.

They are the property of SEGA/ Platinum Games.

* * *

><p>The full moon pierced through the clouds of the night sky, giving the metallic sheen of the military compound an exaggerated glare. The square-shaped clearing was lined with a flawlessly wiped-down steel fence, topped with barbed wire. On the outside of each corner was a turret, each bristling with armed sentries and anti-air batteries.<p>

Of course, this hardly deterred Luka Redgrave, who simply found the danger to be a welcome challenge.

_Crossing that fence wasn't difficult in the slightest_. Luka rolled the thought around his head, allowing each pass to fill his veins with a new surge of adrenaline and confidence.

_As far as L.U.K.A. Luka is concerned, there's no such thing as luck. Only skill._ Luka's motto, the phrase that had rolled off the tip of his tongue when he had successfully wooed Bayonetta (or, at least, he thought he had; he could never really tell with that woman) now reminded himself that he had everything under control, a hubris that could only be equaled by anyone possessing enough liquid courage.

His confidence was easily his most recognizable trait, and his most endearing one. When spoken to, Luka would describe himself as an athlete, an excellent journalist, and a lady's man. Anyone else would usually describe him as an egotistical womanizer...

_...Asshats_...

...but those same people also enjoyed his company the most; they found his faults adorable. And his silver tongue was extremely capable in the art of seduction.

_I just gotta find the checks, grab them, and get the hell out of here. _

He was attempting to expose the corruption running rampant throughout Vigrid's (remaining) police force. Drug dealers, pimps, and other lowlifes had all paid off the leading officers of the armed forces in exchange for the acquittal of any captured criminals affiliated with their gang. He ran over his plan in his head, grinning at his own genius.

_Once the public knows the truth, those officers aren't gonna be officers for much longer. It's a far cry from toppling the gangs themselves...but none of them, not one, will escape the sting of the truth. I _will_ hunt them down and expose them to the city. The hunt for the truth is in my blood. I will impale them upon the spear of truth and toss their broken bodies to the hounds of justice. _

He practically jizzed his pants at how badass he sounded.

He had dropped behind a trash can as he was musing over this and just now peered around the corner, taking in his surroundings.

The first thing he noticed was a giant statue of a Lumen Sage in the center of the compound. Obviously, Father Balder's influence had not yet faded from Vigrid, despite his obvious betrayal during the 2009 Festival of Resurrection.

_Hell, most of these people think it's Bayonetta and the Umbra Witches fault that their city and the Isla del Sol got fried. I owe it to her to tell them the truth, so they can direct their hatred at Paradiso, not at Inferno_. _For once, demons aren't the bad guys here._

Radiating away from the statue were four golden pathways, intersecting at the statues base, forming an X-shape. At the end of each pathway was an imposing, rectangular, one-story building, except for one two-story building of the exact same shape. Streetlights were littered along the pathways. No vegetation or any colors were visible aside from the statue. Everything was gleaming silver steel.

Glancing quickly around, and spotting no incoming guards, he decided to make a run for it. Grappling onto the railing of the roof of the two-story building, he swung up and quietly pulled up the window nearest to him. Peeking in to make sure nobody was inside, he smirked to himself.

_As if a mere barbed wire fence could hold back Luka Redgrave from his target. _He deduced. _They'll never even know I was ever here..._

Grinning, he stepped in...

...only to plant his right foot in a vase, trip, fall over, and shatter the porcelain with a giant _**SMASH**_, covering his pant leg in dirt and dead vegetation.

"_**SHIT!**_"

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><p><em>Hope you enjoyed. R &amp; R and all that. Thanks for reading.<em>


	2. Chapter 2

_Props to Asynca for feedback on my last chapter, and for I'm Iller for beta reading. Hope you enjoy. Cookies to whoever spots the reference._

**Warning: Spoilers**

**Disclaimer**:I do not own Bayonetta or any related characters.

They are the property of SEGA/ Platinum Games.

* * *

><p><em>Fuck. <em>Luka gritted his teeth and dived behind the wooden desk in front of him, expected his outburst to immediately alert the police to his presence. However, seeing no alarms were going off and he wasn't currently pummeling (or being pummeled by) any sort of armed thug, his body slowly relaxed, vertebrae popping back into a healthy position as he straightened his spine, still staying down.

_If anyone was here, they would've arrested or murdered me by now. _His teeth flashed briefly between his lips in a short, arrogant smile. _I knew nobody was going to get their hands on me. _

Grunting, Luka attempted to scramble up, but only succeeded in getting dirt lodged up his pant leg and more porcelain embedded in his skin. Fumbling about, he grabbed onto the desk in front of him and attempted to pull himself up, but flipped it over instead. Pens and stacks of official-looking papers scattered everywhere. The desk slammed into the ground, triggering another nearby vase to collapse. More dirt and porcelain flew across his face.

_Goddammit, _he swore mentally again. Spitting out the suffocating dirt and rubbing it from his eyes and hair, he managed to pull himself up. Putting weight on his right leg gingerly, he recoiled as pain shot through his limb. Glass and sharp porcelain had lodged itself in his foot and leg, and now small rivulets of ruby-red blood had begun to stream down the limb, staining it and pooling onto the brown, wooden floor.

_If nobody knew I was here before, they will now. _Musing, he bent over onto his left knee and shuffled through the papers, hoping the checks would be there.

Luka's optimism didn't pay off. He only encountered several letters describing parking violations that had occurred in the last month, a robbery, and the warrant for the arrest of what was described as, "A man running around with green tights and a skirt. Armed with a sword, possibly dangerous. Charged with breaking and entering, petty theft, and unauthorized use of explosives."

He shook his head. Amusing as it was, it wasn't what he was looking for. He shuffled off into the corridor, porcelain crunching beneath his boots, leaving a thin trail of blood and dirt behind him.

"Meow."

The small sound came from a tiny black kitten that was curled up, half asleep, in front of a door marked **PUBLIC RELATIONS**. While he knew that he should hurry, he also concluded that Bayonetta would emasculate him if she knew he had left a cat, especially a black one, in danger while he went on his way.

Every single woman Luka had ever met was content with a rose, a box of chocolates they would never eat, or some sort of smelly beauty product. It took only that, a few lovingly crafted sentences, and Luka was falling asleep beside some panting, flush-faced beauty.

Granted, Bayonetta wasn't like any other woman he'd ever met, but she_ was _a woman.

And if Bayonetta wanted a kitten, _she was fucking going to get a kitten_.

"Hey kitty, listen up," Luka cooed, trying to sound inviting, and failing miserably, if the kitten's tiny hiss was any indication. "This is probably gonna get me killed, but I can't leave you here, or a certain _somebody_ will torture me for all eternity. Okay?"The kitten just yawned,stretched, and went back to sleep.

"I'll take that as a yes, then." He grabbed it by the scruff and put it in his left chest pocket as it protested feebly, tiny claws pathetically swiping at nothing. Luka pushed the door open, limping over to the desk at the back of the room. Fumbling through the neat piles, he looked desperately for any sort of incriminating evidence. After several moments of fruitless search, Luka gave up.

_If it was here, I would've found it already. Time to try something else..._ Sighing in resignation, he turned to leave the room...

...only to run smack dab into a thuggish officer, his almond eyes narrowed in shock and suspicion

"Hey, what the fu-"

Luka grabbed a stack of papers on the floor and shoved them into the officer's face. While the officer fumbled around the suffocating objects, Luka ran to the window he had entered though earlier, only to find it closed.

_Must have fallen back down while I was picking up the kitten. _He could vaguely hear himself think as he desperately looked around for some sort of escape route.

_Fuck, I'm already beginning to regret saving it, but...I value my manhood too much to risk leaving this cute little fucker behind._

Luka was out of time. The guard had already shaken off the paper and was entering the room while simultaneously calling for reinforcements.

_Only one way outta this mess...and it's not going to be pretty. Better than getting tortured and murdered by some corrupt coppers, though_, he concluded, smashing his left shoulder through the glass.

Shards of paned glass sliced through his weak leather coat and impaled into his shoulder. Placing his right hand over the pocket containing the kitten, Luka fell through the night. Time slowed down to a crawl as he saw the shocked face of the cop stare blankly at him out the window, with a _what-the-fuck-did-he-just-jump-out-the-window_ look stamped across his craggy features. His senses slowly returned to him as his back made contact with the ground, landing with a frightening thud.

Winded, he struggled up and limped out of sight to the dank alley behind the building, behind the trash can he had used earlier. The guard was too busy calling for backup to notice where he went, his frantic cries snapping the compound out of its reverie.

"_Fuck me!"_Luka muttered under his breath. He pulled the kitten and the check out of his pocket.

_If this little guy's hurt in any way, I'm seriously fucked. And __not__ in any positive context._

Surprisingly, however, the kitten was untouched. In fact, it looked as though the ordeal had simply woken it up. It yawned drowsily, its gray eyes half-closed, nuzzling into the sweaty curve of his elbow, purring loudly...too loudly.

"_Shit! Be quiet!"_ Luka tried to muffle the kitten under a dirty gloved hand, but then it began yowling. Swearing under his breath, Luka stuffed it back into his pocket, where it promptly shut up, but it was too late. The night shift, roused by their comrade, had mobilized, and attracted by the noise, had begun to advance onto his position. They had obviously made the connection between the kitten and Luka's location, so he knew he had to get out of there.

_This is why I wish I could be at a good bar, downing a mug of high quality whisky, instead of out here, freezing my ass off, and getting shot at. Bayonetta better give me something sweet in return for going through all this just to save a fucking kitten..._

As he spoke, he latched his hook onto the barbed wire fence behind him, and pulled himself up. The cool metal slid against his grimy cheek for a few precious, blissful seconds before the guards opened fire.

If Luka had more time, or wasn't as injured, he would've flipped over the barbed wire at the top.

But obviously, he was in no position to do anything of the sort.

The best he could do was clumsily pull himself over the barbed wire, the points scraping his injured leg even further. Luka ground his teeth into stubs as the throbbing from his glass and porcelain-related injuries were now replaced by a rapidly increasing burning sensation spreading through his right leg.

He tried to drop down onto the ground on the other side, but instead landed on his back. _**Again**__._ Snatching a glance at the kitten to make sure his charge, and gift, was okay, he then rolled his right pant leg up slowly to inspect on his leg.

Clear shards of glass and brown porcelain lay embedded deeply into his flesh, the dried dirt and blood coagulating into a horrifying dark brown crust on his leg. The barbed wire had jaggedly sliced through the fresh scab, causing it to bleed profusely along the tears. His sock was stained brown and blood squelched under his foot whenever he moved.

_I certainly can't take this guy with me...I have no idea how to take care of a cat...I gotta find Bayonetta. But where is the one place she'd be at this time of night? _His eyebrows scrunched up in thought as a myriad of locations rushed through his thoughts. His eyes widened as he realized where he needed to go.

_Got it! Rodin's place! If there's anywhere in the world she's guaranteed to be, it's there._

Satisfied that he had a plan, new found courage pumped through him as he headed off in no particular direction, having absolutely no idea how to discern the location of The Gates of Hell, the demonic bar Bayonetta frequented.

Or, as Rodin lovingly referred to it, The Dump.

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><p><em>Longer than the last one, I hope. Don't worry, I expect them to get exponentially lengthier as they go on<em>._ I also hope they get better._

_Feedback would be greatly appreciated._

_Thanks for reading, see you next time._


	3. Chapter 3

_Finally introducing you-know-who. Was a little rushed so the end might be a little sloppy._

_Hope you enjoy._**  
><strong>

**Warning: Spoilers**

**Disclaimer**:I do not own Bayonetta or any related characters.

They are the property of SEGA/ Platinum Games.

* * *

><p><strong>~Cat and Mouse~ Chapter 3<strong>

Luka was lost.

He would, of course, never admit it. He succeeded in **everything** he did, never mind how long it took to complete. After several hours of stumbling aimlessly throughout Vigrid, he had slunk down to rest against a tree in the heart of the city. A gray fountain anointed with nude cupids, each of them spraying water through their comically miniscule stone phalli, graced the center of the square. Dawn was beginning to fill the sky with its rosy blush, the glare forcing Luka to squint and turn away.

Pulling the kitten out from his pocket , Luka absentmindedly stroked it while pondering how exactly he was going to locate The Gates of Hell, and more importantly, Bayonetta.

_Any portal or doorway to The Gates of Hell has got to be in Purgatorio. Question is, how do I find a way to get there? _He found himself rubbing the kitten behind its ears. Closing its eyes contently, the kitten had begun purring softly, the sweet sound subconsciously calming him down. His heart rate dropped, his shoulders sagged, and his eyes began drooping shut.

Remembering how much trouble that same purr had just caused him, he broke the hold the noise had on him.

_I should tear the little bastards entrails out..._

Just as this uncharacteristically psychopathic thought left his head, the kitten stopped purring and raised its ears up, looking either alarmed or...curious. Luka couldn't tell. Whatever the case, something had caught its attention that he couldn't immediately make out.

_Police must've been trailing me the whole night. Guess I couldn't lose them..._Preparing himself for an ambush, Luka stood up slowly, back aching as it was jolted from its relaxed position. Still holding the kitten, he readied the grappling hook concealed under his right sleeve.

The kitten mewled excitedly, clawing its way desperately out of his grip and landing on the stone unharmed.

"Ow! Wait! Come back here, you-" His words died in his mouth as the kitten ran several yards forward and stopped. Bouncing up and down, it began purring again, rubbing its face and torso against the empty air.

"Now you just wait a second there, buddy..." Yowling in ecstasy, the kitten jumped forward and disappeared into thin air!

Luka blinked his bloodshot eyes repeatedly to make sure he wasn't hallucinating from lack of sleep, but nothing changed; the kitten was still gone. As he took a step forward, his foot caught on something and he flew forward, slamming his face into the rock with a sharp crunch.

His nose squishing to the right at a horrifying angle, Luka screeched and rolled over, gloved palms sheltering his bloody, broken olfactory organ. Muddy tears streamed down his face alongside the blood as he writhed around in silent agony, still clutching his ruined feature.

"You know, Cheshire, you should really be more careful."

Luka froze, the throbbing forgotten as he looked in the direction the teasing voice had come from. As he expected, nothing was there. But he still had to give voice to the turmoil his brain was going through.

"...Bayo...netta?" Luka's words seemed distant, as if a heavy fog rested over his ears. This couldn't be happening not **now**, no...He had spent all night looking for her, and **now** she showed up! And she didn't even have the decency of letting him at least have a **glimpse** of her wonderfully skintight catsuit? Why he outta...

...Then she stepted out of Purgatorio, and any hostile thoughts he had ran out of his head faster than a certain blue hedgehog. Standing over him imposingly, left hand on her hips, the other holding the kitten, she looked every inch the disappointed female companion.

" You haven't taken very good care of yourself, have you?" She shook her head in mock shame. The curves of her silvery-red lips slowly turned upwards into a teasing smile, her left eyebrow raised quizzically.

"Heading back home from a long night on the town? You've been a naughty boy, haven't you, Cheshire? I expected better from you." Bayonetta knelt down, resting a gloved palm against her cheek as her gray eyes twinkled with a mischievous light.

"Well? Don't you owe me an apology, Cheshire?"

Luka tried to formulate some sort of legible response, but his ruined nose increased the pitch of his voice by several points, adding a comical 'chipmunk' effect to whatever he said.

"It's never gentlemanly to keep a lady waiting like that..." Luka smiled weakly at his own joke. He could barely hear himself, and her bodacious form began to waver and blur as his eyelids drooped. His jaw relaxed, and his eyes rolled back as he began to lose consciousness.

_Oh, well. At least the last thing I see...is utterly...delectable..._On that final, lewd note, darkness overtook his vision, and the mist muffling his hearing earlier now rested over his mind, smothering him in its suffocating, drowsy embrace.

* * *

><p>Bayonetta stood up and waltzed over to his prone form, swaying her hips for no one in particular. Resting her hand on his chest, she visibly relaxed once she felt his heartbeat, faint as it was.<p>

_Hate to admit it,__ I am a little, just a little, mind you, concerned for Cheshire's well being. Maybe I shouldn't have tripped him so hard..._

A distant memory tugged at her conscious...

_"You are of no use to me." The pale blue lips smirked in smug dismissal. _

_ "However, I am not without dignity. I will allow you to die in the same manner as your father..."_

_ Raising his left hand slowly, Balder held his index and thumb together for a full two seconds before clipping them past each other, the sharp __**Crack!**__ echoing throughout the golden amphitheater._

_ Immediately the four Affinities, grasping each of Luka's limbs in their claws, began tugging in the opposite direction. Luka screeched in pain as he felt his arms and legs pop out of their sockets. _

_ Even as he was being quartered, Luka couldn't help but feel a skewed sense of Déjà vu. This was the exact same thing he had witnessed twenty years ago; he had often imagined how it would have felt, to be in his father's position. Now he knew: it was such a shame he would have to die to satisfy his curiosity. _

_ Bayonetta was having none of it. She had been seething inwardly every time her "father" mentioned the Witch Hunts, or how he planned to annihilate this universe in order to recreate it. She had enough of his genocidal tirade, and witnessing the attempted murder of Luka was too much. With four quick trigger presses, the four Affinities exploded in a shower of heavenly gore and feathers, smoking holes gaping through their skulls._

_ With an almost lightheartedly comical eye roll, Balder waved his hand and threw Luka out towards the nearest opening, the force of the psychic throw hurtling him through the line of supporting pillars. _

_ Crying out in horror and desperation, Bayonetta dashed faster than the eye could follow at the hurtling figure. She would not fail Luka, like she had failed her clan, or Jeanne. She __**was**__ going to do something right today. Throwing her arms out desperately, their fingertips managed to brush each others gloves before Luka smashed through the window and dropped to his death. _

_ A knot tightened within her gut as she gasped for breath, lying flat on her stomach. Her arms turned to jelly and she could no longer support herself. With a cry of effort, she unlocked her elbows, allowing them to fall in a jumbled heap upon the floor. Luka's final scream echoed through her ear, reverberating across her whole body in a single movement. Soullessly staring over the edge, her grief turned to a red-hot rage as Balder began to speak again. He even had the nerve to __**chuckle!**_

_ "Well, it seems my plan has gone right out the window..."_

Bayonetta's pupils returned to full size as the memory flew from her in a jolt.

_I failed him..._ A pang of guilt nagged at the back of her mind. She shut it out angrily, scowling pensively as her usual annoyance replaced the unfamiliar emotion._ Though this trick with the cat is an obvious ploy to get into my pants, I can't let him die. However, prolonging the experience won't hurt him. It's certainly more enjoyable seeing him like this than having him babble on about his previous girlfriends for hours on end in a pathetic attempt to make me jealous._

She looked him over once more before a bright light, radiating from a cloudless sky, caught her attention. Rolling her eyes and sighing with annoyance, she picked the kitten up by the scruff and dropped it on Luka's chest. He didn't react, even though the kitten whined in protest.

"You certainly wouldn't mind holding this for a moment now, would you?"

_I never could resist an opportunity to play with my little kitty._

Bayonetta turned and opened a portal to Purgatorio as the kitten stumbled forward and nuzzled into the crook under Luka's neck.

"I thought not." Satisfied, she stepped through the opening and the blurry outlines of the angels on the other side became visible figures.

She had expected only a few Affinities, an Applaud perhaps, but what greeted her was hardly what she expected. A Grace and Glory, the first wreathed in recognizable flame and a red palette, the other shrouded with the familiar crackle of lightning and blue coloration, stood in her path.

She winked teasingly at the Glory and leaped out of the way of its clumsy uppercut, allowing her a moment to focus her energy into disrupting their flow of time. Slowly drawing a circle with her fingertip, she allowed the runes a moment to form before drawing out her prized katana, Shuraba. Its silver blade, marred with a red stripe through the center, visibly dripped a deep crimson liquid.

_Or does it suck blood from the surrounding air? I'll have to ask Rodin about that..._

With a nod of her head, time returned to normal, allowing her a few precious seconds taunt the divine twins.

Holding the blade up to the left of her face, Bayonetta drew a dark pink tongue suggestively along the length of it, ignoring the cuts it scored down the muscle. In fact, she seemed to relish the taste of her own blood, drawing her tongue across her lower lip slowly, spreading the red liquid as a makeshift lipstick.

_God...never realized how good blood tasted... thick and salty. _She drew her tongue across her top lip this time, continuing the spread of the blood-lipstick. She moaned hungrily. _I want __**more**__._

_ "_Two's company, but three's a crowd, hrm?" She raised her eyebrows flirtatiously at the two bemused angels, drinking in their confusion. The Grace turned to look at the Glory, the latter shrugging his golden shoulders nonchalantly.

"Oh, I don't know about you...but I'm _tired_ of demons and whatnot. Why go for domestic, when you can go for_...exotic_?_" _She drew the last word out, wondering if the twins would catch her meaning. They didn't. The Grace cocked his head sideways in confusion, with the Glory sharing an equally dumbfounded look.

She groaned, but it wasn't playfully anymore.

_I'm out of patience. I need this, **now**!  
><em>

"All I'm saying, is that I might want to...try an angel on for size." She placed her hands on her hips, eye sparkling expectantly.

That did the trick. The Grace,previously hunched over in befuddlement, suddenly leaned forward lecherously and nodded eagerly, the Glory mimicking the Grace's actions to the letter. It was almost clown-like, seeing the two angels act in perfect synchronization.

They both took a step forward, and both exploded in a shower of gore as she decapitated the two of them with a single swipe. Shuraba effortlessly separated the vertebrae, slicing through the individual spinal disks instantly. Chunks of gore, still stuck to the bone, flew through the air. It wasn't long before two red and blue heads were rolling around on the ground like a pair of twisted tops.

"Is that all you got?" Bayonetta crossed her arms over her arms with a huff.

"I wasn't even **close** to being done! You boys really don't know how to satisfy a girl!"

Grinning gleefully, Bayonetta licked the blood-stained blade clean, relishing every second she had with the precious, delicious red liquid. She was nearly lost in vampiric ecstasy, everything but the scent of bloodshed forgotten, when the memory of Luka prodded the corner of her mind.

Snapping out of her high, Bayonetta looked around, suddenly realizing that she was drinking blood. Milling a finger about in a dark red puddle, she took a few moments to idly examine the pool, while contemplating what exactly had provoked her sudden, literal bloodlust.

_Some of Ashura's rage and need to consume blood must rub off onto me._ _I love a good fight as much as the next witch...or demon...but the idea of wanting to __**eat**__ blood? _She grinned, bringing up her finger and depositing it slowly in her mouth, sucking on it like one of her lollipops. _That...that actually wasn't that bad at all! _

"Oh my!" She yelped, popping the finger out of her mouth.

"That was bloody amazing!"

Smiling with satisfaction, she redrew the portal on the ground, stashing Shuraba away.

_Until next time, my bloodthirsty little friend._

Stepping back through the portal to exit Purgatorio, Bayonetta picked up the kitten from its sleeping place under Luka's chin, gently enough to not rouse it from its sleep. Then, without showing an ounce of effort, she slung Luka over her shoulder, careful to avoid grasping his injured limb.

_Which reminds me...Where could I take him to fix him up...my place in Inferno's out of the question. Rodin's place...maybe...or..._

Bayonetta smiled.

_Oh, this is going to be fun._

* * *

><p><em>Sorry this took so long to update.<br>_

_It was really hard coming up with Bayonetta's dialogue. Feedback would be greatly appreciated._

_Thanks to Fruit-Sexual (hope I got your name right), NoobishLizard, and Asynca for feedback/previous reviews.  
><em>

_Many thanks to I'm Iller for editing._

__Cats seem to follow Bayonetta everywhere, so I figured they might be able to travel between the human world and Purgatorio. This was my explanation for the cat disappearing into thin air.  
><em>_

_Hope you enjoyed.  
><em>


	4. Chapter 4

_OH MY GOD IT'S FINALLY HERE! I'm so sorry this took so long. I've had a lot of things going on that made it difficult to find time to write. After I finished, I had to find a new beta reader. _

_Fortunately, not all is lost. An extra-long chapter, just for you! _

_Introducing Jeanne and a few very minor ocs._

_(Please keep in mind that this is self-edited. I will try to find another beta reader soon, but until then, I'm going to be editing these myself. They chapters shouldn't be worse, but a few things might be different. Sorry.)_

* * *

><p>Warning: Spoilers<p>

Disclaimer: I do not own Bayonetta or any related characters.

They are the property of SEGA/ Platinum Games.

* * *

><p>Luka woke with a jolt, eyelids swinging open and his vision swimming as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. The fogginess hanging over his eyes prevented him from seeing anything more than blobs of indistinguishable colors, with the only discernable shapes being the bleary foot of the overly luxurious bed he was now occupying. Aside from that, all he could tell was he still wore his black overcoat and trench pants, though the familiar tug of his scarf was nowhere to be found.<p>

Rubbing his eyes with his grubby, gloved hands, Luka yawned loudly, his long night having garnered him a severe case of halitosis, and tried to collect his thoughts. The last thing he remembered was Bayonetta standing over him disapprovingly, and beyond that, everything was an unintelligible orgy of voices and darkness.

Rubbing his temples, Luka tried to get his muddy mind to focus, to remember, but all that he got was the pangs of protest from a taxed brain. Hissing with as much annoyance as his voice box could muster, he pulled himself up until he felt himself resting upright against an unseen pillow. He felt darkness creeping around the edges of his vision, but as his eyelids began to droop, a sharp yowl alerted him momentarily, allowing his eyes to focus for just long enough to make out the tiny black form hurtling through the air, directly at him.

Suddenly, his breathing was cut off as a heavy weight descended onto his face, smothering his nostrils. The intrusion roused him from his stupor, and the suffocating fuzziness enveloping him was instantly recognized.

Squealing with joy, the black kitten he had 'rescued' yesterday was currently attempting to choke him. Throwing his hands up from under the sheets to his face, Luka snatched the kitten up by the scruff and attempted to yank it off of him. The squeal quickly turned to a terror-induced yowl as the little cat unsheathed its claws, digging them, instead, into his skin in an attempt to stay on its perch.

"Fuck!" Luka swore violently and ripped the kitten off of his face. He tossed it roughly to his left, ignoring the mewls of pain it was making, and slapped a hand across his face. Luka traced his digits over the markings, trying to determine how deep and long they were. While he could feel the ridges where the cat had hung on grimly, he still couldn't tell whether or not it would scar. He would need to look in a mirror to determine the extent of the damage.

Luka turned to the right and suddenly found himself rolling off the edge. Toppling over, he landed on his back, knocking the air out of him. Gasping for air, Luka nursed his bruised shoulder, gritting his teeth when he was rewarded with a jab of pain. Rolling over onto his stomach, Luka pushed himself into a kneeling position before standing upright. From this elevation, Luka examined the room.

He was in the corner of a bedroom, standing to the right of a blue wooden nightstand, with a giant red flower perched upon it. No vase of jug of water housed the flower. Leaning in to examine its base, it seemed to Luka that the flower grew into the nightstand. The flower itself was as large as Luka's head, with four petals wider across than his wrist and as long as his index finger closing around the center of the rose.

Turning away, Luka bent forward and rested his head on the bed he had been occupying mere moments ago. Sniffing loudly, Luka tried to isolate the individual scents clinging to the separate fabrics. The sickeningly sweet stench of honey cloyed his nostrils as he inspected the pure white covers, coverlets, and sheets. Four blue pillows lay against the headrest, in two piles.

The rose walls to either side of the bed each housed a white door, with not a single piece of artistic curiosity gracing the lonely surface. The wall directly in front of the foot of the bed was exactly the same, save for the two flowers that grew out, each identical to the one on the nightstand. Though no lights were on, a faint glow emanated from the flowers, giving the room a miniscule amount of lighting. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough to allow him to see his hand in front of his face.

Luka absentmindedly unlocked the clasp of the drawer of the nightstand and slid it halfway open. Sighing heavily, he opened it completely, took one look at the contents, cried out in horror, and leapt away, accidentally slamming the drawer shut in the process.

The drawer was filled to the brim with suspicious-looking cylindrical objects. Though he had only viewed them for a moment, Luka was certain there was at least two dozen of the…tools… occupying the drawer space. He shuddered and shut the clasp before shoving a pillow into his face, sobbing lightly. He smothered his sinuses with the fabric, trying to blot the memory out.

Needless to say, it was no use. He still couldn't forget the telltale way some of them shined and caught the light. How would he cleanse the scarring images from his conscious?

_I need a mirror. _

Luka hadn't seen himself for almost two days, not counting however long he was out. He had to look awful. A man of his inherent good looks had to keep a constant watch over his hygiene to make sure he maintained his appeal. _A face-wash wouldn't go amiss. Which one of these doors leads to the bathroom…?_

Luka shoved the pillow off of his face and crawled over the bed towards the nearest door, the one to the right. His grubby coat left brown and black stains in his wake as he moved across the cover, before sliding off, his filthy boots tracking blood, mud, and other grime across the wooden floor as he reached out for the handle. Luka, grasping the gold-painted steel, shoved it forwards and started into the room.

He had expected to enter into a bathroom, or some kind of closet, but where he had ended up was some kind of perverted mad scientist's lab. The room was impossibly vast, at least half as long as a city block and a half as wide as that again. Directly to the left of the door was a hook upon which a bright red ball gag and a black leather saddle hung. Next to that, lying stretched out along the wall, were rows and rows of whips. There were the standard leather ones, some cat o' nine tails and a few more extravagant chain whips. At the far end of the hall, he could vaguely see some kind of steel horse, which obstructed the view of anything behind it. A few lines of rope lay in a sprawled pile, next to chair with a terrifying, spiked cylinder where he was supposed to sit. Despite the fact that there was no visible light source, the walls themselves seemed to reflect light, amplifying the most miniscule amount of brightness so as to light the whole room.

_This is something out of S&M…no, those were never this intense. _Luka turned to leave, when his gaze fell upon what occupied the corner he had missed. It was a tiny golden altar, with square steps ascending all four sides of the triangular shape. And resting upon the roof was...

_Oh no…_Luka gasped in absolute horror.

_Is that a…strap on?_

He wasn't staying to find out. Mouth gaping in shock and fascination, Luka backed out of the room quietly, trying not to look at the disturbingly lifelike piece of plastic, and shut the door carefully as he exited, and he began to shuffle over to the door opposite the room he had just exited . Shoes thumping loudly against the floor, he doubled back over his footsteps, each clearly marked with red and brown stains, trying to reduce the amount of filth he tracked. Wherever he was, and whoever it belonged to, Luka was sure they didn't want his dirty footprints all over their floor and bed.

_Come to think of it, Bayonetta must've brought me here. Is this her place? Would explain that room back there…_

Luka shuddered in disgust, trying to avoid thinking about what happened there in the wee hours of the night. In any case, don't want to leave a bad impression on her and leave all this lying around.

_Guess I'll have to clean it up later…_Arriving at the door, Luka steeled himself and pushed the door open slowly, the drawing the creak out as long as possible.

_Better not be another kinky dungeon-esque chamber in here…_Groping in the dark for the lights, he jumped back when his finger brushed another flower growing out of the wall. Oddly enough, I quivered ever so slightly in his touch and began glowing, giving off the exact same amount of light as the flowers in the bedroom.

He was relieved to find that this was, in fact, a normal bathroom. Though the building material in this room was stone, everything was a light pink, the same colors as the walls in the bedroom. A sink covered most of the right side of the room, the faucet shaped like a steel cobra head reared up and ready to strike. Instead of fangs, it had two tiny holes that Luka assumed were spigots. Two faucets, labeled _chaud_ and _froid_, lay behind the faucet, resting against a giant mirror. The mirror covered the entire length of the right wall, allowing Luka a view of the scaled back of the cobra-faucet. A plain porcelain toilet squatted in the tiny space between the sink and the far wall, taking up as little space as possible. A curtain less, door less shower dominated the left side of the room, with the only protection being a small tub that came up to about knee high.

Facing the mirror, Luka leaned in until his forehead was almost touching it, trying to determine the extent of his injuries.

His nose was completely disfigured, with the tip squished up against his cheek, almost touching his eye. The bridge no longer retained its curved shape; now it was an indistinguishable mess of cartilage without any form. Blood crusted against the slits that used to be his nostrils, while even more had scabbed onto his mouth. It looked very much like a young child had thrown a massive ball of cake batter onto his face and it had stuck.

Luka groaned. He looked like a pig, with his nose that disfigured. He'd never have sex again; he could hardly bear to look at himself in the mirror, so imagine what the average girls' reaction would be to see this Frankenstein of a man attempting to pick her up.

_I know that some women have a weakness for men with scars, but I don't know anyone who has a fetish for disfigured noses. Even if they do get off on that, they either have horribly low standards, or serious psychological issues._

Luka shook his gloves off and tossed them away irritably. Pulling off his coat, he threw that on the floor too, allowing his sleeveless, plain brown T-shirt some air. Heedlessly trampling his own clothes, Luka turned the cold water on. Holding his chapped, bleeding hands under, he allowed the water a few seconds to pool into the bowl he had formed before splashing it onto his face, ignoring the water spilling everywhere, even onto his own shirt. The feel of the cool liquid against his skin was one of the most glorious things he had ever experienced. It seeped into every dry pore, every crack in his skin, every loose scab. Everything unclean it touched disappeared. Scabs slid off, landing in the sink as they revealed the fresh, healthy skin underneath. Flecks of dirt caught in his pores also drifted out, leaving his face feeling clear and crisp. It was one of the most heavenly things he had ever felt. He was about to splash himself a second time when a sigh beat against his eardrums.

"Cheshire! How many times have I told you not to track mud into the house! And on the bed, too! You said you were housebroken!"

Luka turned halfheartedly, opening his mouth to stammer out some eloquent apology when he saw her.

Bayonetta was standing in the doorway to the bathroom, left hand on her hips, foot tapping impatiently. The left side of her lip curved upwards in mock disapproval, but also betrayed her amusement. Her hair was still in her traditional beehive do, but that wasn't what surprised Luka. It was her clothing.

Bayonetta was clad in a nurse's outfit, if it could be called that. It looked more like something out of a bad porno, or maybe a role-playing game. Hardly regulation uniform.

She wore a two-piece skirt, leaving her navel and lower stomach exposed. The top part could hardly be considered clothing. Two skimpy pieces of white cloth connected at the lowest possible point were all that she wore to cover her chest. The deep v-neck exposed just a _little _too much cleavage chest for it to have any pretense of practicality, everything else on her upper body was exposed, including her shoulders. The lower portion was nothing more than an identically colored short-skirt, less than an inch down from her thigh. Knee-high white stilettos, with three inch tall heels, and gloves that went up to her forearm sealed the deal.

Bayonetta took a step forward, and Luka instinctively backed away, not quite sure what to expect.

He had never gotten along well with his left and right feet. As he stepped back, his lower limbs seized the chance to humiliate him. His right heel came down onto his left toe, the poor appendage gallantly taking one for the team in their attempt to embarrass him. Yelping, Luka tripped backwards and the back of his head collided into the wall behind him.

But it wasn't his feet's fault. One's coordination can hardly improve if you're licking someone's else's breasts with your eyes, and Luka paid dearly for this distraction. His head throbbed as blood desperately raced upward in an attempt to clot his numerous ruptured blood vessels. If Luka had eyes on the back of his head, he would be able to see the telltale violet of a fresh bruise peeking out from beneath his hair. Clutching the back of his head, Luka groaned as each pump of blood caused fresh pain to blossom and grow.

Bayonetta stopped mid-stride, mild concern flickering across her features as she knelt down to examine him. Reaching out for his mangled nose, her almost generous gesture was met with a murderous scowl and her hand lightly, but abruptly, shot away.

Her mock benevolence instantly left her as she stood up, crossing her arms and huffing with annoyance. She resumed tapping her foot, allowing him to endure the throbbing pain for a good ten seconds before she spoke again.

"I bring you here," Waving her hands around her head, she gestured at the bathroom around them. ", and this is the thanks I get? You ruin my room? Do you have _any_ idea how many millionaires I had to fuck to get the money to pay for this, right?"

_Wait, what?_

She sighed again, showing visibly more frustration. Securing her butterfly glasses onto the bridge of her nose, she pantomimed holding a clipboard with her right hand, her other fingers flipping through the imaginary pages. Humming some tune to herself, she continued the flipping until she stumbled across whatever she wanted.

"Luka, Luka, Luka" She shook her head, earrings jingling. "You've been a very bad patient, my little Cheshire puss. I'm afraid we're going to have to take more…"She raised her eyebrows, looking over her glasses at him. "…extreme measures."

Luka really did not like the sound of that. Not even bothering to mime putting the clipboard down, Bayonetta broke character, allowing the clipboard to disappear miraculously. Placing one arm under his neck and another under his thighs, Bayonetta hoisted him up effortlessly, carrying him out in front of her like a carpet. This was a woman who could shift a fifty-story building using her forehead. Spinning on her heels, she turned and started out of the bathroom.

From the angle he was at, Luka was forced to stare down her chest. With his face less than two inches away from her, it was also truly a challenge to avoid touching her breasts with his nose. Bayonetta noticed his gaze and pushed his neck forward a little bit; now he was less than an inch away from motor boating her. Luka feebly attempted to pull his head back, but her grip was immovable; he was stuck in this perilous position. He knew that making any sort of contact with her would result in his intestines being gouged out and used as jump rope.

Arriving at the bed, Bayonetta ignored the mud prints and laid Luka out flat on the same side of the bed he had woken up on. Then she blew a kiss to the flowers on the wall, the two by the only door Luka had not gone through yet. The flowers shook and opened completely, exposing their centers. A single yellow skull took the place where one would normally find a ring of pollen, and each skull gave off significantly more light than they did when they were closed; about enough to light the whole room.

She placed a gloved hand on Luka's forehead, pretending to feel his temperature. He was too busy continuing his attempt to bore holes in her chest with his eyes to notice her touch. Her hand came away bloody and dirty, but she ignored it. She picked up her make-believe, magically reappearing clipboard again, (Jeanne often called her a street woman, but that probably didn't mean she thought Bayonetta was a mime) and looked at the front page, nodding sagely.

"Hmm, yes…"Stroking her chin, she put the clipboard away (actually pantomiming it being placed back onto the nightstand) and paced back and forth alongside the bed. Luka just continued gaping at her cleavage.

"I'm sorry to say, Mr. Redgrave; oh, it's alright if I call you Mr. Redgrave, isn't it, Cheshire? Thank you kindly!" Answering her own question, she waved her hand dismissively and began again. "As I was saying, Mr. Redgrave, you seem to have a very serious case of broken nose, scarred leg, cracked skull, and general unattractiveness."

She smirked. "I can administer a treatment that should cure all of them…well, all of them except the latter. I really don't think there's any hope for you there." That caught Luka's attention. He peeked up from the heavenly pillows for a split second to glare at her.

"Oh, don't fret. The process is relatively painful. At least, it is to me." Bayonetta snapped her fingers and a horrifying syringe the size of his hand appeared above her head. It spun in the air for a moment before coming to a rest in her waiting hands. The glass was filled with a clear, yellow-red liquid that bubbled and hissed violently as it struggled to escape to confines of the bottle. Winking disarmingly, she squeezed the button lightly at the end of the syringe, allowing a small red bubble to form at the tip of the needle.

"I call this The Red Hot Shot Procedure. It's saved my life more times than you would care to count." Planting a hand on his chest, Bayonetta began to guide the needle towards a visible artery on his upper arm. Luka struggled halfheartedly, but she tightened her hold on him. Just as the needle began to pierce the skin, she paused, looking around evasively.

"I actually have no idea what effect this will having on you, given the fact that you're merely mortal, not a witch…but there's a first time for everything, isn't there?" Before Luka could react, she plunged the needle into his arm, injecting him with the viscous fluid.

Immediately a burning sensation began to spread from his arm, sprinting up his nerves to his legs, chest, and head. After a few more seconds, the burning was replaced by tightness. Luka felt as though his skin was drying up like a raisin, becoming too small to contain his organs. If it continued to shrink, he felt his skin would rupture and burst.

He lashed out, arms flailing for a few seconds before Bayonetta forced him down and secured his arms against his sides. Luka looked up at her for a split-second before following her gaze down to his pant leg, which had sidled up his lower limb during his struggles.

He could see his scored cuts, but something was wrong. Areas that used to be covered with filthy, pus-crusted scabs were now drawing fresh blood as the skin contracted against the covering. The flesh under the armor scrunched up, forcing the protection off of him.

Underneath the scab, his flesh bubbled and flowed with disgusting purpose, tiny bubbles of blood forming before popping, scattering droplets around the surrounding area. Among his disgust and pain, he realized that the hole in his skin was shrinking; the skin was closing over the opening in a matter of seconds, a process which would usually take weeks, if not months.

The relief at the fast treatment of his injuries was suddenly replaced by confusion as his nose began twitching violently, the spasms erratic and inorganic in nature. The cartilage began snapping into place, each new attachment darkening his vision and blotting out the sounds of his own pain. Drowning in his own agony, darkness enveloped Luka as he passed out.

* * *

><p>Bayonetta released Luka as he finished thrashing, knowing he wouldn't wake up for a while yet.<p>

_The drug must have a very different effect on humans than it does on Umbra._ Bayonetta pondered as she wiped her latex-gloved hands together. _It was never so painful that I passed out_. The bubbling and contracting had ceased; the skin had bound back over the openings in his skin, with faint welts being the only indicators of his previous injuries.

_Ok, so maybe the outfit was a little over-the-top_, she remarked, staring down her own v-neck. S_till, seeing Cheshire gawking at my chest is something I'll never let him live down._

Satisfied that her work here was done, Bayonetta glanced at the watch on her chest. Six-thirty in the evening.

_My prissy little aristocrat never has supper any later than eight. _She groaned. She was hoping to avoid this responsibility. She much preferred being a self-diagnosed parasite to actually contributing to the household. _Still, I'll have to help her if I plan to eat before the next Unification of the Trinities. _

Not possessing any human property, Bayonetta was forced to find lodging in Jeanne's disgustingly well-organized little world. Jeanne never really went to Inferno anymore, except to meet with Madame Styx, Gomorrah, and their ilk once a century. Following the Eyes of the World Fiasco, Bayonetta had invited herself to live in Jeanne's estate after discovering its existence.

_She hardly even leaves the house anymore…I practically have to beg her to come with me when it's time to commit some genocide. _Snatching a last glance at Luka's prone form, she confirmed that he was, in fact, asleep before stripping down, kicking off the white boots and unbuttoning her shirt and skirt, allowing them to fall to the floor.

_When was the last time I was nude? It seems the only time I've actually been in my birthday suit in the past few months has been when I'm about to dismember some particularly annoying angel._

Bayonetta wrinkled her nose in distaste.

_I never do get all the guts out of my hair._

The lack of a window only reminded that there was no cool breeze to feel against her skin.

_No time like the present to fix that…The space above the bed seems promising. _A quick snap of her fingers, and an already-open, single-paned window grew out of the violet paint.

_Ah…now that's better._ She ran her fingers through her soft ebony hair as the wind puffed it out lightly. Closing her eyelids, she took a deep breath, allowing the scents of dusk fill her nostrils. She was intoxicated with the knowledge that she had finally found time to allow the wind to dance over her form, its soft caresses gently finding its way into every crevice, every nook and cranny of her body.

Bayonetta shook her head, snapping out of her reverie. She needed to help Jeanne with supper, and fast. Whistling quietly, she opened the nightstand. Instead of a pile of toys, however, the drawer held stacks of clothing. The nightstand showed whatever its owner wanted it to. Why it chose to display erotic playthings to Luka was anyone's guess.

She ruffled through the clothing with one hand, the other lazily twirling a lock of her hair. She was performing menial housework, with a fellow Witch no less. What in the world would she wear?

The nurse outfit was out of the question; Jeanne would go off into a rage and start lecturing about "objectifying women" if she saw something with so much cleavage. Bayonetta couldn't risk getting grease, or whatever cooking material they were using, in her hair by using her hairsuit.

_Wait a minute…we're cooking. I need to wear an apron, or a…_

A slow smile teased the corners of her mouth upwards as she held up the black and white bundle of fabric that she had been searching for.

_Haven't used my French maid outfit for quite some time…and never for actual housework._

The maid outfit had an opening in the back, just like her hairsuit. On her hairsuit it served no practical purpose, other than to tease at what lay a precious centimeter down from where it sealed back up. But on this, it allowed her space to enter the one-piece. Staying upright, she slid her feet through the designated spots in the skirt, then pulled it up so it secured around her lower thigh.

The entire outfit was black, matching her hair, with the only exception being the white laces that crisscrossed down from her chest to the bottom of the suit, and the fluffy frills ringing the skirt. Fortunately for Jeanne's self-esteem, there was minimal cleavage on the maid outfit, even if she did have exposed shoulders and backside. Pulling up her traditional black knee-high shoes, she spun on her heels and started out towards the hallway, popping in and out of Purgatorio to avoid having to open and close the door.

_I suppose I could add a zipper and close the opening on my back, _she mused as she exited Purgatorio_. But as long as I'm helping Jeanne, she owes it to me to allow me some amusement torturing her over my choice of attire. Jealous priss. _

At some point during Jeanne's five hundred plus years of being under Balder's control, she had been gifted with this estate as a reward for her service. She couldn't remember what she might've done that merited such a great reward, and it was perhaps best left forgotten.

The Renaissance-style lodgings fit perfectly with Jeanne's aristocratic persona. A private estate, exquisite taste in art and clothing, an unhealthy obsession with cats and cooking; Jeanne was every inch the female European aristocrat. The mansion was laid out in the shape of a giant eye, the roof made entirely out of glass, with a single hallway going along the entire circumference and four diverting paths. Two halls at the three and nine o'clock marks led to Jeanne and Bayonetta's quarters, respectively, and the final two paths were directly across from their quarters leading towards the center, and forced one to the spiral staircase downwards.

Speaking of art, Jeanne had built up quite a collection in the past year. You could barely move an inch without smacking into some statue or hanging painting. Granted, most of the pieces were (hopefully) copies of famous works, but they were nonetheless impressive.

Heels clinking against the brown wooden floor, Bayonetta stole a swift glance at the nearest work to grace the white walls; Leda and the Swan. The overtly erotic depiction of a woman being violated by a bird did little to pique her interest.

_Honestly, the things people call art…_Bayonetta did not hide the fact that she did not possess Jeanne's taste of class. She did, however, make it clear that Jeanne had no right to impose her own interests onto Bayonetta.

_It's not like I force Jeanne to come with me on our little hunts. I respect the fact that she's going soft, but she damn well can't make me pretend to care about this…this…pornography._

She shrugged it off, sorting the thought into some distant folder in the back of her mind labeled **Stuff Jeanne stuffs down my throat**. She took two more steps forward before starting down the center stairs, taking the steps one at a time, exaggerating her movements.

Coming round the final rotation of the stairs, Bayonetta almost tripped over a fat Maine Coon that had been sleeping on the bottom. He hissed violently and tried to sink his claws into her foot, but her boots were having none of it. Harsh words were exchanged between the leather and the cat, and it sulked away, denied its vengeance.

Bayonetta sniffed huffily, returning her focus to surveying the room ahead of her.

The entire first floor was a single room, except for the restroom and the gym. The kitchen was a large rectangle of sinks, dishwashers, washing machines, stoves, ovens and every other cooking utensil imaginable, with a single opening in the counter for entering and exiting and a fridge built into the wall behind next to the stove. The fine marble countertops showed signs of extended use via various food stains and chips in the material, and the auburn floor appeared dented and scored. A blue, over comfortable couch rested against the counter to the right of the staircase and three fluffed pillows lay sprawled across its meter-long length, each barely sliding into their designated spots in the furniture. The tiny coffee table in front of the couch looked meek compared to the ludicrously large 80-inch LED TV that dominated the entre right wall. Since the sound system was just the TV's standard speakers magically amplified to surround-sound levels, there were no other attachments. A dining table just barely large enough for four people huddled against the far wall, with a very lonely-looking door opposite it, next on the blank wall alongside the table.

Jeanne bustled about in the kitchen area, surrounded by at half a dozen cats of various breeds, each of them competing with each other for their mother's attention. An infant Savannah/Serengeti hybrid pawed at her feet, mewling pitifully in a request for food, its mixed parentage given away by its striped and spotted fur. A tan, spotted adult Savannah, presumably its mother, picked it up by the scruff and bore its protesting burden away from the kitchen. A pair of Bengals chased each other in circles round Jeanne's legs, before the fat Coon barged into them, sending all three cannon balling into a sixth feline, a jet-black tabby of obscure genealogy. The four quarreling cats shot out of the kitchen, colliding against Bayonetta's boots in a whirlwind of fur and claws.

"Ivo! How many times have I told you not to pick on the twins?"

Jeanne's shrill cry shocked the cats into silence, each of them frozen mid-fight.

"And that's no way to greet a visitor!"

She wiped her hands against a white handkerchief hanging on the refrigerator door before folding her arms over her chest, the image of an angry mother. A red, flowered, apron hugged her waist, with minute spots of alcohol and soap marring the otherwise flawlessly clean piece of clothing. A psychedelically neon, hastily hand-woven t-shirt through under the apron shimmered and caught the light, giving the outrageous patterns life and movement every time she shifted slightly. Plain blue denim jeans came down to her ankles, fraying slightly at the ends. Jeanne's style of dress (at least when cooking and doing chores) was more focused on practicality and less on fashion sense, though she still favored the class of her D'arc collection whenever she had the opportunity to dress up.

The shriek of a whistling teapot broke the spell. Jeanne snapped up and waved her hand, shutting the stove off, then glared reproachfully at the four cats that remained.

"Go on! Mummy's got guests!" Taking the hint, the felines scrambled to untangle themselves from Bayonetta's legs.

"Ivo, make sure you leave Kenneth and Gabriella alone!" She called as the cats cleared out, leaving Jeanne alone with a very bemused Bayonetta. The latter jokingly mirrored Jeanne's posture, folding her arms over her chest and planting the same huffy look upon her features, mimicking Jeanne's frustrated eye-roll.

"Did you really have to bring _him_ along?" Jeanne gestured absentmindedly to the stairway as she turned to continue her cooking. Opening a pot of steamed vegetables, she inhaled deeply, muttering some calculations under her breath as the steam escaped the confines of the pot and rushed out at Bayonetta. The vapor cast its spell over her hair, dampening it to the point of dripping. Flicking her fogged glasses off, she wiped a smudge out of existence with a digit and smiled knowingly.

"He'll be staying in my wing of the house, so you don't need to worry about him getting in your hair. Or at least, whatever's left of it." Bayonetta ran her fingers through her beehive, emphasizing her superiority over Jeanne.

Among the Umbra (or, at least, when there was more than two of them), how one displayed their hair was a matter of preference. There were no differences in the magical potency of two witches of the same level of training with different hair lengths. However, some of the more elitist witches began to equate longer hair with higher social standing, and though there was never any official integration of this policy, it was considered an acceptable philosophy and became the social norm. Things soon devolved into the female equivalent of a dick-measuring contest, with the end result being the banning of discrimination through hair length.

Bayonetta, however, never passed up the chance to flaunt her glorious tresses in some primitive show of dominance over Jeanne. Jeanne couldn't _stand_ her snobbish attitude, and had often toyed with the idea of cutting Bayonetta's hair in her sleep as some childish prank. Jeanne had more class than that, though, and had long resigned to simply glaring at her whenever she made such a snide comment. Now, however, she was too busy creasing her brow in agitation as she realized the implications of Bayonetta's words.

"So you've found yourself a new toy, then. You know, I sincerely wish you had higher standards when it came to men…and women. He's likely never had a job, never been in a stable relationship…how in Paradiso could you even consider spending time with him outside of necessity? He's barely worth your attention; let alone any sort of relationship!"

"Don't fret your bald little head about it; he's not staying with me, and he's certainly not here for _that_. Though, if you want him that badly, I'm sure he'd oblige." Bayonetta teased, but she wasn't going to get another rise out of Jeanne. The white-haired witch was far too relieved that Bayonetta was not planning on sleeping with Luka to concern herself with jabs and insults. Though, that bald comment was quickly ruining her good mood.

"Well…as long as you're sure you're not going to shag him, then I guess it's fine if he stays." Jeanne sighed, her reluctance, and relief, obvious to Bayonetta.

"…And he's not _that_ bad; at least, not as bad as that corpulent tool Enzo." Jeanne's pride would never allow her to admit it, but she figured she should actually meet Luka before passing any sort of judgment on him, and the only interaction she'd ever had with him had been in their celebratory angel-slaughter after saving the universe.

Wait a minute, what exactly was Bayonetta doing in the kitchen? Jeanne's suspicions arose as she checked the grandfather clock in the living room and confirmed that it was, in fact, another hour before supper. Bayonetta never spent any more time in the kitchen than was necessary to eat.

"So, now that that's out of the way, what exactly are you doing here? This is _my _domain, and you've never been down here for any reason other than to mooch food off of me. So, what do you want this time?"

_This is going to be a shock to her, that I'm actually volunteering for work. I'm just as surprised as she is._

"Like you said, we have guests, and you'll never be able to finish supper by eight at this rate. So I'm…making my services available to you."

Jeanne raised an eyebrow suspiciously. Bayonetta wanted something, without a doubt. Jeanne hardly gambled, considering it an unhealthy habit, but she would bet her favorite apron that the other witch had ulterior motive. Discovering it, on the other hand, was going to be tricky.

"…Just like that? You're offering to help me…_me_…make supper?" Jeanne held her hands in front of her in mock fear. "Who are you and what have you done with Cereza?"

Bayonetta rolled her eyes. She had caught Jeanne's bluff before she had even said it.

"You can stop the act. For once; just this once; I'm helping you with dinner. Now, what goods do we have?"

Jeanne, still skeptical, gestured lazily to a row of pots.

"I was planning for some spanikopita, but it turns out I have spinach and no pastry. So, I figured we could try for something a little more…extravagant. I have some quinoa out, and some spinach and peppers steaming. Any ideas?" It was a test. If Bayonetta refused to come up with any ideas, Jeanne would take that as a sign that she wasn't committed to helping her and would drive her out of her kitchen with great prejudice. If Bayonetta actually tried to think of a dinner plan, Jeanne would humor her suspicious request and allow her to work on dinner.

Bayonetta, meanwhile, tapped her lip thoughtfully, musing over her options and the resources at her disposal.

_Hm…no meat, only thing with any sustenance is the quinoa…Maybe…yes, that'll have to do._

"We have cheese on hand, right?"

Taken aback by Bayonetta's enthusiasm, Jeanne replied instantly.

"Yes, it's in the frid-"

Moving so fast that light particles would hang their heads in shame, quit their jobs, fall into depression, and sojourn to a life of drinking, Bayonetta disappeared and reappeared with a solid wedge of mozzarella in her hand. She had just moved past Jeanne, opened the fridge, found the cheese, closed the fridge, and run back to her original spot in less than a quarter of a second. Jeanne wasn't fascinated, she was annoyed.

"How many times have I told you…don't use Witch Time in the house! Aside from the lack of practicality, it terrifies the cats!"

Bayonetta rolled her eyes, tossing Jeanne the cheese, her Umbran sister catching the cheese with scant effort.

_Look, I'm helping you. You have to cut me some slack on what normally pisses you off._

"Yes, mother." Pursing her bottom lip out, Bayonetta did her best impersonation of a sulking ten-year old. She would press the joke further, but she just wanted to get the cooking over with.

"So…what were you actually planning on making?" Jeanne was pleased that Bayonetta had proved her will to work, but still had absolutely no idea what the other Witch had planned, and she hated being kept in the dark.

"You'll see, my shiny-headed little friend. This is my idea, and I'll tell you when I'm good and ready, and not a moment before. Which one of these pots is steaming the peppers?"

"Right over here, ma'am." The disheartened, male voice responded to her inquiry.

Bayonetta turned, displaying actual shock and fascination as she turned to face the brass pot.

"Did you just…talk?"

"Yeah, I can talk. Just never got around to it before, seeing as you're never here, and not many people ask things of me besides 'Hubert, increase your temperature by 20 degrees', or 'Hubert, how many times have I told you not to-'."

"All right, that's quite enough! I'm not that bad and you know it!" Jeanne cut him off mid-gripe, saving her Umbran Sister a depressing rant. "Honestly, you make it sound like I'm torturing you. I know it's not _that_ painful."

Bayonetta, meanwhile, had regained her composure. Settling her glasses back onto the bridge of her nose, she performed a small curtsy in the general direction of the pot.

"You know, it's generally considered polite to introduce oneself before striking up a conversation, but I'll forgive this minor transgression. I imagine that you don't get the chance to speak terribly often, and with Jeanne being your only company around, I expect your conversations to be dull, repetitive affairs. If you would be so kind as to refer to me as Bayonetta. And you are…?" Coming up from her bent posture, she waved her hand in a circular motion; a gesture to elaborate.

The pot rotated ever so slightly on the stove, looking sheepish.

"Hubert, ma'am. Much obliged." He…um…

Yes, I suppose it's a he; at least, I dearly hope it's male.

…tilted downward a little, his watery contents sloshing about inside him.

_Is it just me, or did…did a pot just bow to me? Jesus, every time I set the bar for the most ludicrous thing I've ever seen, something like this saunters along and completely obliterates my expectations. Still, no need to be rude…at least not yet._

"So...Hubert…" She tapped a finger against the poor thing's top. "How exactly did you get your name? Come to think of it, how exactly did you come into Jeanne's possession. Come on, don't be shy. I'm all ears."

The bubbling sound from the inside of the pot intensified, and Hubert mimicked the movement he had made earlier, where he rotated and looked down. If a pot could blush, Hubert would be the image of it.

"Jeanne talks to us sometimes, when she's not fussing over her cats. She tells us about how she fights with weapons possessed by demons, and how a part, if not all, of the demon lives on inside the weapon. Apparently, according to her, we're kind of the same thing, just refitted for purposes more…appropriate to her current needs."

Bayonetta continued her rhythm on what would be Hubert's head, authentically fascinated with the exchange. Jeanne, meanwhile, had strolled off and began chopping the cheese, still unsure on whatever it was they're making.

"Then why don't you have your original name? Hubert is certainly the strangest name for a demon I've ever had the misfortune to come across."

Hubert guffawed, the top jutting up and down a small amount.

"No, that's not my real name. Don't even remember what my real name is, or what life was like when I wasn't stuck in this pot, either. I only know what Jeanne decides to tell me." His laughing ceased and he began to settle back down, his good humor lost.

"Jeanne says I was some kind of gluttony demon, with a name so long that even she hated pronouncing it. She just shortened it to 'Hubert' and that was that." He was now sounding downright crestfallen, and Bayonetta pat his top in a gesture of mock sympathy.

"Are you the only one of your kind here? The only talking utensil, I mean."

"Of course not, sweet cheeks."

She could pinpoint the exact origin of the voice this time; the large knife on the cutting board, to her right, its long, curved, paper-thin blade contrasted by the length and almost ungainly thickness of the black plastic handle.

The knife possessed less ability to display emotion through movement than Hubert, but more than made up for it with its wider range of vocal fluctuations. Its next phrase was even blunter, if that was at all possible.

"Name's Jasper, babe. You need to know anything else, feel free to touch me."

Bayonetta was used to this sort of treatment; even the fact that it was a goddamn _knife_ hardly surprised her. If there was more than one talking kitchen tool, one of them was bound to be a playboy.

_Must have all the butter knives wrapped around his little handle. He'll get the same treatment they all do._

Jasper cackled, vibrating the blade against the dark wood, producing a repetitive rattling sound.

"Go on, you know you want to."

His voiced dropped, taking on a husky, seductive (or at least, as seductive as a piece of metal could be.) tone.

"You look like you got time. Why don't you take me up to your place, and let me see the color of your insides? Come on…it'll be fun."

Bayonetta drew her tongue across her lower lip, looking longingly at the blade over her glasses. Picking up the knife by the handle, she felt the plastic tense organically under her touch as she brought it up slowly to her left cheek. She moaned loudly, blowing lightly onto the blade and making a great show of being impressed by its size.

"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" She teased, putting her thumb and index finger against the blade and drawing them slowly up to the tip, squeezing every few inches and feeling the blade twitch in reflex.

"My standard toys are just so _bland_ nowadays. All they do is just vibrate a little." She let her lower lip quiver in a mock pout.

"I want something that can really tear me up, make me want more; something that'll have me screaming someone else's name into through the night and into the dim hours of the morning."

Upon making it to the top, she lightly tapped the point several times, allowing it to prick the skin and drip blood off onto the blade.

Jasper chuckled. If he had been a biped, Bayonetta was sure he would have been whispering in her ear, stroking her chin as her leaned into her.

"You know I can do that for you, and then some, babe."

"If you're quite finished flirting with inanimate objects that just happen to be able to speak…" Jeanne interrupted, sarcasm dripping from every word.

"…You can tell me what we're making. Unless you plan on starving to death while you knock boots with a _kitchen utensil_?"

"Do you mind?" Jasper growled from Bayonetta's hand.

"It's rude to interrupt somebody when they're getting laid. Bitch." He murmured under his breath to Bayonetta.

Though she did not display it, Bayonetta's flirty, bubbly demeanor had instantly vanished. She could take a little dirty talk, but involving those other than the herself was pushing it.

_I'm fine with playing along with your obnoxious machismo and condescending manner, but really? Who rusted away and left you fucking king? You need a little lesson in humility._

Clicking her tongue resentfully, she stroked the blade one last time.

"You know, It's been fun, but…you're maybe not the right…fit for me. I can introduce you to some nice forks, though." She winked at him, a tease that someday, she may go back on her promise. Of course, she was never going to actually have sex with a knife; aside from the physical impossibilities (which had hardly deterred her before, but that was another story.), being an asshat was a serious turn-off. It had just been playful (if blunt) flirting so far, and now she had drawn one of her rare "personal space" lines. Whether Jasper would respect her boundaries was yet to be seen.

She was to be sorely disappointed by his lack of character.

"Ah, come on, babe." His smoothness was quickly devolving into pathetic begging, cockiness vanishing now that the "prize" he was so certain he had caught was slipping through his fingers.

"You can't lead me on like that, and then leave me hanging. You gotta-Argh!"

Waggling her finger reproachfully, she bent Jasper's blade, a gesture that was probably the equivalent of bending someone's spine backwards.

"Uh-uh." Bayonetta tut-tutted disapprovingly.

"Do you need to be educated on proper courting etiquette, Jasper? When a girl says, no, she means no. Unless she means yes, in which case, she really means no."

Without another word, she stabbed him point first into the cutting board, making a great show of bending the blade to more easily wedge it in. Barely containing her laughter, she sauntered off towards Jeanne, Jasper's string of curses punctuating her departure.

"Fucking bitch! Get back here, slut, or I swear I'll tear your colon out and use it as a fucking tuba! Fucking tease!" She could (metaphorically) feel his spittle splashing her face.

Bayonetta stuck her tongue out, disdain for his immaturity made clear.

"My, my, resorting to childish, elementary swearing now? You've lost all your class, if you ever possessed any. Where's the smooth, manwhorish Jasper of yesterday?"

"When I get out of here, I'll…"

Bayonetta threw a hand cloth over him, muffling his tirade. He continued mumbling under the cloth, though it was now unintelligible.

She turned to Jeanne, who had just now decided to stop eavesdropping and finish slicing the mozzarella. Her annoyance was made perfectly clear via the ludicrously rapid manner in which she tossed one half of the dairy product to Bayonetta.

"Is there anything else you need, or can we actually get to the process you came here for; namely, finding something to eat?"

"Not just yet. Are there any other talking pieces of house ware I should meet?"

A choir of voices suddenly exploded, overpowering the room with the dozens of different utensils vying to make their presence known to their "mother's" guest.

"Oh, there's me!"

"No, miss, pick me!"

"I'm the one you want to meet!"

Their canned "adoring fan" voices were discernible from each other, though Bayonetta noted that there was a variety of pitches and tones causing the chaos. She covered her ears, exaggerating the intensity the sudden rush of voices had upon her eardrums.

"Shut up!" The room fell silent, besides a few more squeaks from the smaller cooking implements. She surveyed the room, silencing these interlopers with a glare in their general direction.

"Oh, I'm flattered!" She pretended to blush and blink her eyes rapidly in shame, looking for all the world like a flashy pop star.

"It's so nice to know I have so many fans! Though you'll be disappointed to know I have no intention of giving any of you my autograph, nor do I intend to remember any of your assigned titles."

She could feel the excitement die instantly, leaving the once suspenseful room dead and empty of intensity, the fan's hopes completely crushed.

"That being said, I look forward to getting to thoroughly know each and every one of you. Though I do dearly hope not a single one of you is anything like Jasper."

A few whimpers echoed throughout the kitchen, but otherwise, the room was silent in anticipation of the star's next move.

"Oh, don't you worry, Jeanne." Bayonetta winked at the peeved woman.

"I won't meet them all this very instant. I'm sure we'll all get to know each of _very_ well by the time I leave this dump of a mansion."

She licked her lips and moaned suggestively at her groupies, giggling inwardly at Jeanne's infuriated expression.

_Jeanne's probably going to pop a ventricle if I procrastinate any longer, the poor little princess. I'd love to see that, but I suppose the show must go on. So, without further ado…_

Bayonetta stepped forward and bopped Jeanne on the nose with her pricked finger, causing Jeanne to yelp in shock and stumble backwards, trying to wipe the blood off. Bayonetta dashed behind Jeanne and stuck her toe out, causing the witch to topple over into a row of colanders, each of them protesting meekly as they fell over and milled about on the ground, one of them landing on Jeanne's head like some ridiculous hat.

Standing above the infuriated, humiliated witch, Bayonetta winked at her and snatched the rest of the cheese from her hand, offering a gloved hand to the downtrodden witch while doing so. Ignoring the aid, Jeanne struggled to get upwards, grumbling, but only succeeded in sticking her foot in a round colander and falling over again like some bad slapstick routine. She accepted Bayonetta's outreach this second time, with some reluctance.

"If your childish pranking is over, will you stop fooling about and actually get to work?"

The sight of a blood-smeared, apron-clad Jeanne raging at her was too much. Bayonetta finally broke out laughing, etiquette composure lost in the face of this hilarity. Clutching her stomach, she practically hooted with pent-up mirth before suddenly regaining her composure. She bowed in mock submission, her reply showing no traces of her previous lapse in character.

"As you wish, milady. You know what they say,"

She winked suggestively at her Umbran sister.  
>"Let's get it on!"<p>

* * *

><p>Bayonetta wiped her sweaty paws off on the chest of her frock, mentally counting down the seconds until the stuffed peppers were done baking. An hour later, dinner was nearly ready, and just in time, too. Jeanne was very strict on her whole "supper is <em>always<em> before eight o' clock" code, and with barley ten minutes until eight, they were cutting it close.

_Okay, I concede that my earlier antics did little to help us proceed any more expeditiously, but Jeanne doesn't have to be so tight-ass about it. She really needs to learn the finer arts of subtlety if she thinks I don't notice the glares she occasionally shoots in my direction._

Though Jeanne had gotten over her earlier abhorrence of Luka, she still wasn't terribly thrilled about Bayonetta's immature decision to procrastinate the cooking of dinner

You've got to take the good with the bad; at least Jasper's shut up, the self-absorbed prick. Threatening to snap his blade-penis seemed to do the trick, haven't heard nary a squeal from him for the past hour.

"Cereza, have you actually made this before?" The accusation was wild, random, and totally accurate.

"Well, what do _you _think, hm?"

On cue, the kitchen timer went off, announcing that the dish was completed. Jeanne frowned and waved her hand, prompting the oven to grudgingly turn off before turning back to her grinning sous-chef.

"Don't change the subject! Have you actually ever made this before? Come to think of it, have you ever actually cooked anything before today? I want the truth, now!"

Bayonetta shook her head, buying time to come up with another redirecting response.

"If you must know, I haven't made this particular dish ever. Second, that's two questions. I have no obligation to answer the second one. Why is that such a pressing concern to you?"

You haven't cooked anything before, have you?" Jeanne had good reason to be skeptical. Since saving the universe, Bayonetta hadn't done a hand's turn of domestic work. Her time with the Umbra was no different, but Jeanne can hardly blame her for that. Pariahs and exiles were hardly expected to cook and clean.

"The dinner's getting cold, _mi princepessa_." Bayonetta's smug response was practically a verbal middle finger to Jeanne, but frustration gave way to perfectionism. Mentally berating herself for providing the other witch with verbal artillery, Jeanne kicked the oven door open with unnecessary force, eliciting a grunt of pain from the unlucky object, and pulled out Bayonetta's pride and joy; her first successful culinary achievement.

She passed it to Bayonetta, the latter dropping to one knee to receive the offering. Jeanne rolled her eyes and passed her the plate, Bayonetta accepting it with the exaggerated reverence as befitting her mischievous track record. Straightening her legs, she leaned her head down and allowed the savory fragrance to seep into her nostrils, beginning the flow of saliva that accompanied anticipation of a good meal.

_Green peppers stuffed with cheese, spinach, and quinoa._ She rolled the ingredients through her head one final time. _Not bad for someone as totally and completely incompetent as me…at least, according to Jeanne._

"Despite your ridiculous insistence on hampering me at every turn, I am, for once, truly proud of something you have done."

_Is that…respect I hear? God, she must have a horribly low opinion of me, if cooking a single meal is all I need to do to get back in her good books.  
><em>

"At least, truly proud of something you have done where the stakes were only our gastric system, and not an innumerable amount of lives."

_…and there she goes, fouling it all. Bravo, Jeanne. You really know how to cheer a person up._

Bayonetta set the plate containing her masterpiece down, opting to wash her hands before eating. The dish itself was fairly appetizing visually, with no discernable, disgusting traits that invoked a regurgitation of one's stomach contents. The peppers were cut in half, from stem to bottom, and turned so they faced upwards, forming a primitive bowl. The spinach ringing the inside of the pepper was not at all as bad as her childhood led her to believe, and the quinoa took up valuable space in the otherwise empty pepper. A generous helping of molten mozzarella, not unlike the texture of authentic Italian pizza (not the horrendous American concoction) kept the toppings from spilling out like some kind of edible glue.

"I dearly hope the table is set, my dear. Otherwise, some tongs are going to spend the rest of their mechanical lives as picking up the end results of a dog's digestive system."

"You do _not_ threaten my babies. Fine, I'll get your table set." With a snap of Jeanne's fingers, the cupboards hanging above the kitchen flew open, and trios of plates, utensils, and glasses clambered out in a wailing flood of steel and glass. Moving in perfect sync, they rushed over to the table by the television, coming down to rest none too gently in front of their respective chairs.

Bayonetta was actually impressed.

_That was a greater show of choreography than any large-scale musical I've ever had the misfortune to attend._

Another flick of her wrist, and the main dish flew up into the air, spinning gracefully without spilling any of its cargo, and landed directly in the center of the table.

An awkward silence fell across the room for a few seconds. Bayonetta could hear every creak, every distant mewl, every single whisper by any object (of which there were none) for a full two seconds.

_We're just going to stand here and starve to death if somebody doesn't do something soon. I'll allow myself the honors._

Pursing her lips, Bayonetta let out a sharp catcall, magically amplified to the point where it could be heard around the house, and then followed that up with a singsong announcement.

"Cheshire, dinnertime!"

* * *

><p>Luka was fast asleep.<p>

After passing out due to pain, his thoughts had devolved into a wild mosh pit of darkness and confusion. Somewhere, lost in the murky whirlpool of his subconscious, he heard a voice call out to him. Its tone was warped to the point where he was unable to tell if he recognized it, but he could feel its urgency.

"Cheshire, be a good boy and don't leave your mummy waiting. It's time for supper."

The lighthearted tone seemed eerily familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Where did he recognize that voice from…

"Kitty, come down _this instant_! I'm not going to remind you again!"

Luka's head shot up, his skull painfully crashing against an overhanging lamp-flower. Head thudding with pain, Luka grabbed his forehead with a bare hand, cradling it against the agony as he used his other limb to rub sleep from his bleary eyes.

He could, unfortunately, vividly remember the horrifying pain of hyper accelerating the healing of his wounds, but no such pain immobilized his limbs any longer; a quick glance under the covers confirmed that in fact, he appeared perfectly healthy. His eyes no longer possessed the stinging generally associated with being bloodshot, so he hazarded to guess that he appear more presentable than he had been before passing out.

Luka also recalled the voice in his sleep, and could now pinpoint its source as Bayonetta.

_She said something about dinner…when was the last time I ate?_

A lecherous growl from his stomach provided him with the obvious answer. His body's warning, plus the urgency of Bayonetta's statement, only added to his need to leave the room. Throwing the covers off with a flick of his wrist, Luka crawled out of bed, his limbs no longer hampered by injury, and, clutching his stomach as it growled further, lurched out of the room. He was no longer inhibited by pain, but was now feeling hunger's demanding hold stretch over him.

Shoving the unlocked, nondescript door open with his other hand, Luka took a few precious seconds to take in the details of the hallway.

_She has good taste, nothing I wasn't expecting. I'm getting a very aristocratic vibe from this building style. Lots of expensive-looking archways and flooring. A lot of art in various forms, whether sculptures or paintings._ He noted dryly, continuing forward.

_Good to know; it'll provide me with a topic of conversation that isn't unbelievable awkward._

The he noticed the more…erotic nature of the paintings further down the hall, and immediately redacted his statement.

_Actually…can't risk her bringing up anything suggestive. I'd normally jump at the idea, but I'm pretty sure that talking about sex on our first date isn't going to win me any points. Avoid art for now._

He ignored the fact that it was not actually a "date". Someone else was there (although he had no knowledge of that), and this was no romantic outing. This was a practical dinner between two people who just happened to know each other well…

Okay, that was beginning to sound a lot like a date.

Making sure to avoid the looking at the penises of the male statues, Luka guided his woozy self to the stairs, guessing that the dining room was lower down in the house than where the living quarters were.

As he took his first step down the stairs, he compared himself to the great explorers, Magellan and Sir Francis Drake, bravely stepping onto shore in their heroic quest for fame, riches, glory and genocide…

And then he remembered how they all ended up; dead, imprisoned, or hopelessly fanatical about their causes.

He missed the first step, his foot swinging wildly out beyond the wood before the fates decided to play a practical joke and drag the rest of his body along with it, sending him tumbling down the staircase. Perfect timing.

His fragile spinal disks jolted in place against the hard wooden surface as he slid down the hard wood, each new outcrop digging into the folds of his back even deeper. The sharp wood began to draw blood as he continued to roll down, his cries rhyming with each step like some children's show, comical in its pain. The agony wasn't as intense as the Red Hot Shot procedure, but this pain was on a more humiliating level. The idea that he could do something as cartoonish and idiotic as fall down the steps on his way to dinner with a lady-friend completely stripped him of any dignity he hoped to posses tonight.

He came to a stop suddenly, banging the base of his skull against the final step. His eyes were screwed tightly, more so in shame than in pain.

He opened his eyes when he felt something prod against his chest. He cracked an eyelid open, then let them both swing upward in shock and horrified anticipation.

Bayonetta stood over him, clad in yet another impractical, erotic outfit he could think of a few reasons why she might have so many, then concluded that it was probably best to not know. He had chased her for twenty years and had hardly seen her during that time, after all.

_I'm almost completely certain that she has more dignity than to allow herself to become a porn star, but that collection of outfits is seriously making me reconsider what she draws the line for..._

The heel on her knee-high boots was poking his stomach expectantly, each new jab prompting another humiliating growl out of his system. She was obvious amused by this reaction, considering how she continued to stab at his belly through his overcoat.

A minor detail, however, was that from this angle he could practically see up her skirt. Her lower frills were at the perfect angle to block anything obscene, but the fact he could discern the curves of her inner thighs betrayed the nearness of her erotic teasing. Whether that was accidental or intentional (knowing her and her track record with Luka, it was most definitely intentional), Luka's cheeks flushed at the gesture. She had sensually played with him before...

_In fact, that's pretty much every interaction she's had with me…_

...but this was easily the most suggestive thing she had done short of actually straddling him. And this time, Luka could make out a very, _very_ peeved Jeanne from behind Bayonetta's skimpy form, which kind of killed his boner.

Bayonetta was the first one to speak.

"Cheshire, you're late for dinner. Better hurry now, your supper's getting cold." Despite her prompt, she did not shift her foot, and Luka knew that he was in no position to lift her leg off of him.

_Getting mad at her is a terrible way to start the evening of. Better play along and…um…uh…_

Luka's unusual steady-headedness immediately deteriorated into Neanderthal "ZOMFG DO WANT!" the instant the wind ruffled her skirt. He didn't actually see anything…or did he? It didn't matter because now his brain was disconnected from his mouth, and was sending tearful phone messages asking why it never called, wrote, or visited. His planned response spilled out of his mouth in an incoherent tangle of words and jumbled phrases…or lack thereof.

"I, er…well, you…um…."

_Oh my god, Redgrave, real smooth. _

She smiled, the corners of her lips tilting upwards in amusement, reveling in his awkward stupidity and consistent loss of coherent speech the instant she teased him.

"What's that, kitty? Speak up, I can't hear you."

The immediate threat had passed, and Luka was now thinking somewhat clearly, or at least much more clearly than he had been before.

"Um…Sorry? Oh yeah, er, what's for dinner?"

_Classy, you idiot. Way to go._

"All in good time, Cheshire. In the meantime, would you like some cherry cheesecake for dessert? Preparing it will be no trouble at all, and I'd be _more _than willing to get it ready for you."

It took Luka all of five seconds to realize the sexual undertones of her phrase, and less than two seconds to completely forget what he was going to say next.

_Saying "yes" is the easiest way to find myself with a ruptured stomach wall. That heel looks mighty sharp. Saying "no" is lying. In the battle between self-preservation and honesty, being economical with the truth always wins._

"I, uh, think I'll pass. Um, thanks anyway, for the, er, offer."

Bayonetta rolled her eyes, looking everything like the desperate partner. If his situation was completely different, he could imagine those eyes looking up at him from below his belt, pleading with him to try something out of his comfort zone.

"Come now, kitty. Everyone loves sweets after a good meal."

Dammit, I'm not getting off that easily. Do I turn to my other resources?

A quick look at Bayonetta's torturously pleading tone, and Luka was shooting glances desperately in Jeanne's direction. The aristocrat rolled her eyes, weighing her options. Leaving him to his fate would be entertaining, and give her a better idea of his character than if she got him out of this spot. However, there was no telling how long she would have to wait to get her sustenance if she allowed Bayonetta her fun. Observing the pros and cons of each stance, she opted to intervene, much to Luka's relief.

"Yes, yes, we all get it, you're remarkably well-spoken. However, if you don't want to fade into a shadow I insist you desist from destroying that poor things self-esteem and allow us to break our fast. Even though it's the evening."

Bayonetta turned to face Jeanne, still leaving her foot in place, to Luka's chagrin and delighted annoyance.

"Really, Jeanne, must you ruin all the fun I try to have? Just because you deprive yourself from the world's pleasures means I don't get to let go once in a while?"

Grudgingly, Bayonetta removed her foot from Luka's stomach and took a step back, giving him the space he desperately needed in order to get up.

"You really need to get laid." She whispered under her breath. This muttering escaped Luka's untrained, mortal ears, but not Jeanne's. She stiffened, but otherwise did not acknowledge the stab at her sex life.

Luka hoisted himself up, trying to avoid reflecting on how dangerously close he had (presumably) come to getting killed by the deadliest stripper heels evolution had ever created. As he met Bayonetta's gaze, her frustration from Jeanne's interference had been replaced with her usual tease.

"So, where's the table?" Now that he wasn't being sexually assaulted, he had regained some of his legendary composure, and was now able to formulate actual sentences.

Bayonetta's earlier huff was gone as well, returning her completely to the sassy, suggestive witch he was all too (or happily) familiar with.

"If you'll come with me, sir. We have the finest companions waiting for you. Perhaps something petite, smart, and Japanese would be your style?"

_I have no idea what she's talking about, but I have no intention of allowing myself to fall into a pit of awkwardness again. Best to just avoid conflicting views._

He followed her through the living room, sending a grateful glance at Jeanne on his way past her. He cleared the living room without further conversation and sat down on the wooden chair closest to the patio, steeling himself for a long, taxing meal.

Bayonetta was already seated by the time he had arrived, and was tapping her foot impatiently against her chair leg as Jeanne made her way towards the pair, a hiss of annoyance escaping her lips.

"We're going to die of old age by the time you get here. Why don't you just indulge our preferences and use Witch Time to get around the house from now on?"

Jeanne refused to dignify Bayonetta's impatience with a response, instead opting to elegantly slid into her chair. She was now opposite Luka, who was facing with his back to the window and Bayonetta to his left. Sighing, Jeanne took the smallest stuffed pepper from the serving dish and dropped it lightly on her plate, prompting Bayonetta, and then Luka, to follow her example. Engraved into the plate was he image of a cat with its body covered in pink frosting and pastry. It sailed through a field of stars, leaving a trail of rainbows behind it. Luka transferred his gaze from Bayonetta, then to Jeanne.

_What the fuck is that?_

Luka almost opened his mouth to speak, but then decided to drop the subject.

_Better just focus on things I have a fucking clue about…that rules out…whatever this is, the art, demons, angels and pretty much anything about these two women. Go me._

The brief turmoil was followed by an incredibly awkward silence, which only he seemed to be affected by. Bayonetta was seemingly ignoring him, instead cutting her pepper into tiny slices and sandwiching the filling between two pieces, while Jeanne delicately scooped the insides out with a miniscule spoon. Luka, meanwhile just stared dumbly at his food, not sure if consuming it would be considered polite.

The silence was eventually broken...but it was neither Luka, nor Bayonetta, not even Jeanne who spoke up.

"Dammit, somebody say something already! I told you, babe, this guy's too much of a pussy to handle you-ARRRRGGHHH OW MY PENIS!"

After roughly three seconds of speech, Bayonetta cruelly twisted Jasper's blade with her bare hands, allowing it to cut into her finger, the crimson fluid dripping down into her food.

"Bad boy! Bad Jasper! I told you specifically to not do that! You'll need to learn to respect your mistress!"

Releasing Jasper's blade, Bayonetta tossed him over her shoulder, causing him to land, still weeping, onto the wooden floor. He clacked about pathetically for a few seconds before giving up, whimpering as his blade remained mangled.

Luka couldn't tell what he was more surprised about; the fact that a knife just _talked_, or that said knife just insulted his masculinity.

"Wait…did that knife just talk? How?"

Luka pondered the possibilities for a moment before correcting himself.

"Actually, scratch that. I don't want to know."

Bayonetta smiled, flashing her perfectly white teeth for a second before returning to her food, ignoring that it was completely soaked in her own red blood cells. Her eating continued unmolested, but Luka no longer had an appetite.

"Um…Should you, like, get that checked out, or something?" He gestured to her bleeding hand, clear anxiety planted on his face.

Bayonetta looked nonchalantly at her hand and opened her mouth with surprise, as if noticing the grievous wound for the first time.

"Hrm…yes, that might be slight inconvenience."

"A slight inconvenience? Um, you're kind of…bleeding all over the table. Just saying. No offense."

Bayonetta raised an eyebrow at Luka and cocked her head, but did not object.

"Oh, all right, doctor. I'll go put something on it. That'll stop the bleeding until I can Red Hot Shot myself."

Without excusing herself, Bayonetta stood up and looked around for a moment before slinking over to the coffee table. Her prize was the box of tissues on the piece of furniture.

_Good choice. It'll be messy, but cleaner that letting her bleed everywhere._

Bayonetta leaned down to pick up the box, but suddenly shot her hand towards the tissues, knocking them off the table.

"Oh, bother."

She rolled her eyes and made a great show of bending over to pick up the tissues…right in full view of Luka.

Her decency was kept intact, but the same could not be said of Luka. A painfully obvious bulge shot up from his nether regions, and he suddenly felt lightheaded.

_Oh…I don't feel so good. _

Luka clapped a hand to his forehead as he toppled over. His curtains dropped as he could feel liquid seep from his nose.

_How does the expression go?_ He wondered, now completely unable to see.

_Oh, yeah. If you've got a brain and a penis, you can only have blood in one of them at a time._

Sprawled out on the floor with an erection and a nosebleed, Luka fainted.

* * *

><p>Jeanne shook her head sadly as Bayonetta grinned and stepped over to Cheshire's utterly pitiful body, her hands still leaking.<p>

"Really, Cereza, that was cruel. What did the little mortal do to deserve that?"

Bayonetta bent down to pick him up, holding him over her shoulders like a sack of potatoes. She giggled inwardly as his still-hard member poked her side.

_They always fall for that…though none quite so literally as Cheshire. _

"Don't worry. He'll be fine. I'll take him upstairs. Nothing to see here, citizen."

Jeanne suddenly looked alarmed, her eyebrows shooting up and her mouth opening partway.

"I sincerely hope you're not planning on touching…_him_." She treated the concept with absolute revulsion.

"There's a spare room to the left of your wing of the house. You can stick him in there." Jeanne gestured idly towards the stairway.

"Anyway, he seems like a fairly decent man…at least, compared to the types of people you normally associate with. I'm guessing you're not going to finish dinner?"

She didn't need a response. Bayonetta had turned around and was heading up the stairs.

"Figures."

* * *

><p>The guest room was right where Jeanne had said it would be, just outside of Bayonetta's room. She didn't bother to muse over why she had never noticed it before; presumably, Jeanne kept it magically hidden from guests.<p>

The room was literally a bed. And that was it. No nightstand, no lighting of any sort…it was just a plain, single bed of two meters length that barely fit into the room in contained. A space in front of the door gave the occupant room to enter and exit, but there the comforts ended. It was even colored in the same shades as Bayonetta's bedroom; brown floor, violet walls.

Bayonetta threw Luka off of her shoulder and onto the bed. He clocked out on top of the bed, belly up, exposing his still-raging erection to the world.

_Oh, Cheshire…What is it you're dreaming of that's keeping you hot, my kitty? Silly boy._

And the door shut behind her.

* * *

><p><em>How'd you like it? Yeah, it was long, but I figured I'd reward you guys for waiting almost two months. <em>

_I promise that the next few chapters will be updated more frequently that this one was. They won't be as long, certainly, but they'll be longer than the first three were. _

_I'll try to find a new beta soon, but if you like my editing, let me know and I'll edit my own work from now on._

_Thanks for waiting and reading! Reviews makes me the happiest of pandas._


	5. Chapter 5

_Well, sorry that took so long. Had a huge amount of Irl stuff to take care of and had no time. _

_Mild smut inc for this chapter. At last. :P  
><em>

**Warning: Spoilers**

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Bayonetta or any related characters.

They are the property of SEGA/ Platinum Games.

* * *

><p><strong>One week later:<strong>

Luka dropped the weight onto his chest, his arms protesting the constant up and down movement of his exercises. Sitting upright on the workout bench, Luka massaged his wrists, red and creased with effort, as he tried to bring life back into his agonized limbs.

Stalking a single person for twenty years had its own set of dangers; whether it was cops, angels, or whoever had decided to ruin his day, he had plenty of people to run from. The constant fleeing had proven to be just as effective for toning one's body as regular trips to the gym. His lifestyle gave him quite a bit of cardiovascular exercise, so whenever he had the chance to go to a decent fitness center, he focused on strength training and muscle mass.

He was attempting to resume the workout routine he had maintained before the incident in Vigrid. Neglecting his exercises had consequently left his muscles lazy and idle. They whined at the now-unfamiliar stretches and movements he was currently sweating through. Biceps that were formerly able to bench press seventy pounds now groaned when he pushed them anywhere towards the fifty-pound range.

_Guess I'm gonna have to start from scratch. _

His string of sexual conquests would not have been possible without the aid of a toned physique; a balance of chiseled muscle and endearing fragility that girls flushed over. Luka's biceps and legs were flattering enough, bulging ever so slightly when relaxed, showing off their ripeness. His pectorals and abdominals were soft to the touch, with only the faint lines of what could be vaguely described as a two-pack visible on his stomach. Many a dainty, feminine hand had caressed that same area and felt the ridges of well-exercised chest muscles.

With his signature smirk, Luka rubbed a sweaty hand against the back of his neck and slid off the bench. To save space, Jeanne had fixed it so the gym contained only the machines necessary for the workout at hand, saving a considerable amount of space. The gym was barely lager than Jeanne's living room, even when filled to the brim with weights and benches. At a moment's notice, the treadmills and bikes could melt into the walls, and a gymnasium could bubble into view.

Luka never exactly understood how this worked, but the explanation was obvious.

_M a g i c._

Of course, the mystical nature of the fitness center forced Luka to ask for Jeanne's help whenever he wished to transition out of his current routine. Luka appreciated that Jeanne didn't tease him about his hobby.

When Luka had first asked for permission to use her gym, Jeanne, chuckling softly to herself, had led him downstairs and quickly explained the process to the bemused human. Jeanne was fine with him calling on her as needed, as long as it wasn't more than once an hour.

"Up to three machines, or a single swimming pool, can occupy this space at a time." He recalled her explanation.

When she was called down, she rushed the necessary equipment into existence and left directly, coolly making sure to avoid eye contact with Luka. She would never stay to watch his workouts.

_I don't see why she's so cautious around me. I'm definitely not trying anything with her. Besides the fact that she seems a little off her rocker, I've seen what she does to people she doesn't like. It's not pretty._

Lacking Bayonetta's playful attitude, Jeanne brutally and coldly murdered each and every single holy entity she encountered. Bayonetta treated angels with the same sadism, but at least she was cheerful about it.

_…She's a brick house, though._ _If Jeanne didn't scare the shit out of me, I would go for it. Good taste, too…good…taste…taste…_

His stomach whined, and Luka glanced at his wristwatch. Twelve-thirty in the afternoon. He'd been exercising for almost two hours.

Luka was, to put it mildly, starving.

_Wonder what Jeanne's managed to throw together for me today. Say what you will…she knows how to cook a good meal._

Rotating and popping his neck, Luka staggered towards and up the stairs, head swimming as blood pooled back into his legs.

* * *

><p>Jeanne was busying herself with her cooking, and, as per usual, ignored his immediate approach. Whether it was out of lack of interest or simply not noticing him, Luka couldn't tell. Stepping over a sprawling pile of sleeping cats, Luka leaned over the kitchen counter and drummed his fingers along the marble, waiting for Jeanne to acknowledge his presence. Her reply took him completely off guard.<p>

"I'm not your maid. If you want food, you have to ask. I'm not scheduling my day around your wishes."

She didn't even look up from her vegetable-chopping.

Luka blustered, opening his mouth several times in an attempt to formulate a response that wouldn't offend her. Before he had a chance to speak, however, Jeanne rolled her eyes and met his gaze, a smug grin tickling the edges of her mouth.

"Mortals always take things so literally. No, I'm not going to make your lunch in advance, but you _are_ a guest in my home. And it would be churlish of me to refuse you the hospitality expected of any reasonable host."

She pointed her blade towards his stomach.

"So, Redgrave. What tickles your palate today?"

Her mood swings were too much for his exhausted mind to take in, and he didn't quite know what to say. So, naturally, the first thing to pop into his head flew out of his mouth.

"Chicken?"

_Um…well, that's not as bad as some other options I could've put forward, but it's not what I'm really in the mood for._ _She doesn't sound like she'll broke any argument, however._

As expected, Jeanne creased her eyebrows in disapproval.

"Anything more…specific? No? Okay, then I guess I'll improvise."

Without waiting for an answer, Jeanne waved her hand towards the fridge. The door slid open and a frozen, gutted chicken flew out and landed in the now-open oven next to Jeanne. The door shut and began thawing the poultry.

"Normally, this would take several hours to complete, but how about we speed things along, shall we?"

She tapped the oven impatiently, drumming her fingers along the side of the door. It growled back at her.

"I'm doin' the best I can, marm. You and your friend are just going to have to wait for a bit."

Jeanne shook her head, a dangerous grin growing across her face.

"You misunderstand me. That wasn't a request." She chided, clenching her fist several times in the direction of the speaker. Dials started spinning rapidly as howls of pain filled the kitchen, originating from the oven itself.

"You _will_ cook this immediately. That's an order."

"Okay, okay, _okay_! I'll do it! Just stop, please, stop!"

Jeanne unclenched her fist, releasing the poor oven from its torment, but not before kicking it once, just to prove her point.

Less than twenty seconds later, the door to the oven popped open, and a perfectly grilled, golden brown whole chicken slid out into Jeanne's waiting oven mitts. Another flick of her fingers, and knives soared out of the drawers and sliced the chicken on their own accord. The chunks of meat swirled about in the air for a moment before coming to rest on a plate.

Luka was stunned. Dumbly accepting the porcelain from Jeanne, he sat down at the table and took a moment to recollect his thoughts.

_Case in point. She's sadistic…_

Absentmindedly, Luka picked up a nearby fork and took a bite out of the chicken cutlets. His eyebrows rose in surprise when he was greeted with a warm, light, buttery flavor, as opposed to the rough grilled texture he was anticipating.

…_but she makes damn good food. Plus, she's Bayonetta's buddy, so she can't be all that awful of a person. Speaking of which, where is she? Haven't seen her for more than two days. _

He took a breath, opening his mouth to ask Jeanne, but she interrupted him.

"You're welcome. " Leaning over the countertop, she scrunched her button nose, her disappointment clear.

_ Whoops._

"Um, thanks, I guess." Luka thanked her lamely.

That satisfied her. Stifling a smile, Jeanne folded her arms over her chest.

"That's better. Now, what else did you need?"

Luka's tongue stumbled over his seemingly straightforward response.

"Do you know where Bayonetta might be?"

Jeanne shook her head, closing her eyes and sighing.

"No, but knowing her, she's probably fooling some drooling, hapless idiot into funding her alcoholism. I have nothing against liquor, but I'll never understand her obsession with leading people on…especially strangers."

"That's just because you don't know how to have a good time, princess."

The chicken Luka was currently lifting to his mouth with a fork suddenly disappeared, and he felt a light tap on his shoulder. Turning, he found himself staring into the business end of one of Bayonetta's Scarborough Fairs. The gun suddenly lifted away, revealing the witch herself, munching on Luka's stolen meal.

"Hope you don't mind if I borrow this, Cheshire." She joked, her mouth half-full of poultry. Opening her jaw larger than necessary, she swallowed the other piece of chicken, making a show of closing her eyes and licking her lips as she did so.

Flustered, Luka looked away, grabbing another utensil and resuming his meal.

"'Sokay." He muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for her to hear.

"Where have you been?" Jeanne's yell rent the air and broke the silence.

"I haven't seen you for _days_! What have you been doing?"

Bayonetta shot a glance in her direction, her voice dropping all of its usual suggestiveness.

"I had a date with Valros You know how he can be."

Jeanne's anger suddenly faded, and she stiffened up. She didn't say anything, but Luka caught the pained look Jeanne flashed to her sister-in-arms.

_Something's up, and now's as good a time as any to find out what_.

"Um..." Luka began before trailing off. Bayonetta and Jeanne both turned to face him, playfulness lighting up the black witch's eyes again. Jeanne, however, still looked troubled.

"Yes, kitten?" Bayonetta's sultry (and, to Luka, hopelessly arousing) tone had returned.

"Who's this Valros guy?"

Bayonetta tapped him on his head once, condescendingly, as if she was explaining something monumentally complicated to a small child.

"Don't you fret, kitty. Nothing you need to worry about."

_…That in no way answered my question, but it's obviously something she doesn't want me to know. I'll revisit it later. _

"Rodin's informed me that there's a larger-than-average gaggle of angels wandering this mountainside. It includes some of our more joyful friends. Care to dance, Jeanne?"

Jeanne cocked her head pensively, taking her mitts off and wiping her hands on them.

"Well…I suppose I haven't for quite a while…"

"That's certainly the understatement of the last five centuries."

Jeanne glared at her friend, who whistled and pretended not to notice. Jeanne coughed and started again.

"…but I haven't been to the ball in quite awhile. Yes, I do think some exercise will do me good."

"Wonderful. And you, kitten?"

Luka suddenly realized she was talking to him.

_Wait, is she inviting me? Um…maybe when I'm less hungry._

He shook his head.

"Sorry, ladies. That's a no-can-do."

Bayonetta raised her eyebrow quizzically, but conceded without her usual taunts.

"Oh, all right. Spoilsport. Have fun being locked up in this dusty old tomb of a house."

"That's enough out of you! You're still on _my _property, and I won't have my home insulted by a guest. Let's go."

Satisfied with having reasserted her authority, Jeanne huffed and spun away, towards the exit.

Rolling her eyes, Bayonetta strolled towards where Jeanne had gone, exiting the room without another word . Before much longer, the front door closed shut, and Luka was all alone in the house. Then her heard the distant mewls of Jeanne's many cats, and smiled to himself.

_Well, not _all _alone_.

* * *

><p>It was now eight in the evening, and the two witches had yet to return from their "ball". Luka was beginning to turn in. He'd showered, gotten himself dinner (He figured Jeanne wouldn't miss the cheese pizza) and was now in his room, changing into his boxers for the night.<p>

_Wonder how much longer they'll be out. It's been almost eight hours, now. _

Luka started to pull his shirt over his head, but his elbow got caught in the sleeve and trapped his head under a web of stretched cotton. Clenching his teeth in frustration, he struggled a few more moments before feeling a tap on his shoulder. Pulling his shirt down completely, Luka found himself face to face with Bayonetta.

He jumped back with a yelp, tripping and landed on the bed in a sitting position. She giggled, covering her mouth with her hand as she took a step towards him.

_How did she get here! I didn't even hear the door _open_!_

A quick glance over her approaching shoulder enlightened him to the fact that the door was, in fact, wide open. Go figure.

_More importantly, what is she doing here?_

Even though she was trespassing on his personal space, Luka suddenly felt the urge to apologize.

"Um, sorry, Bayonetta, um, didn't know you were…"

She suddenly flew forward and smothered his mouth with her silver lips, bringing her hands up to the sides of his head and pulling him in closer to the one-sided kiss.

_What the fuck?_

It wasn't as if Luka didn't want her; actually, he spent most of his "alone" time thinking about Bayonetta.

_But this is all a bit…surprising. Why here? Why now?_

Then she pulled back to breath, and Luka got a good look at her eyes; grey, bright and full of want.

She attacked his lips again, wrapping her arms around the back of his head. This time, however, he didn't resist.

_Not that I'm complaining, though._

Bayonetta pushed him backwards on the bed until his back lay parallel to the wall, then backed off again, breathing heavily into his ear.

Luka started as her cold tongue began exploring his lobe. He pressed his back against the wall until he felt like he was going to crush himself against the unyielding wood. Her tongue wrapped around his outer cartilage, and penetrated his ear canal. It was foreign, alien, gross…but felt oh-so-_good_.

His arms flailed, accidentally knocking her off her perch. She yelped and stayed upright by holding onto his neck, barely keeping the two of them from falling off the bed.

_Dammit, you had to go and mess it up now, did you?_

But Bayonetta just looked back at him, laughed once, and placed her hands on his shoulders, drawing him in for another kiss. Pulling herself to him, she settled securely onto his lap and began grinding her hips against Luka, still connected at the mouth. Her hips rolled and gyrated with the shape of his pelvis, her core brushing against his concealed member repeatedly,

_Ah…_

Luka's neck tightened and he reached out, grasped her right buttocks, and squeezed. She broke the kiss and moaned into his ear, never ceasing her liquid movements.

With his left hand grasping her lower cheek, he reached out with his right limb and nestled her breast in his palm, caressing the disguised nipple. She moaned again, and stopped moving. Leaning back, she invited him to explore with a nod.

Noticing she hadn't retracted her hairsuit, Luka fumbled about her chest area, looking for a zipper. Finding his target, he grasped it with one hand and pulled. It stuck.

_Of course. Has to get in the way._

Reaching on with both hands, Luka tugged again. This time, the zipper fell away. He only pulled it down enough to allow her to bare her shoulders.

Leaning forward, Luka kneaded her left clavicle with his thumb and index finger, lightly grabbing the bone. She gasped and clenched her legs against thighs. His buried his nose deep into the flesh under her chin, training kisses up and down the front and right side of her neck. He began descending slowly, leaving a trail bite marks as he massaged her shoulder, until he finally reached her breasts. He reached out to pull the zipper down once again.

And her head exploded.

"What the fuck!" Luka yelled and jumped up in horror, blood splattering across his face. He flung the body away from him and stood panting, staring at the mangled, crumpled form.

"You know, I was really hoping I wouldn't have to tell you to keep your hands off them. But I must've underestimated the male principle of 'If it's an adult, has a vagina, and weighs less than one hundred and fifty pounds, go ahead.'"

And there, standing in the doorway, was Bayonetta, right hand on the side of her glasses, left hand pointing a smoking Scarborough Fair at the body on the ground. Pursing her lip, she lowered the gun, glaring at Luka with the same eyes that moments ago were filled with lust…or so he thought.

_What's going on?_

Luka looked back down on the dead body, a hole going through both sides of her head, and was shocked to see that he was no longer looking at a dead Bayonetta. Instead, he saw a woman wreathed in white and green, her "assets" angular and her body voluptuous. Her hands and feet were emerald balls that twisted and reformed constantly, and four silver streaks of metallic hair fell down from the back of her head.

"Wait…so that's…"

"A Joy. Those Copycats tend to love flaunting themselves in combat…or out of it." Bayonetta snapped, her "death stare" unwavering and unforgiving. Luka couldn't help but feel he had betrayed her.

_Wait, why am I thinking this way? We're not in a relationship, at least not yet. It's not like I cheated on her. Well, my right hand did, but that's beside the point._

Still, he couldn't bring himself to stand up straight under her gaze.

"Ok…but couldn't you have waited till I was done before blowing her head off?"

She rolled her eyes, her frustration dropping momentarily.

"She could've killed you in an instant, kitten. And you would've sat there drooling while she did it."

"Doesn't sound like a bad way to go. In any case, what are you angry about? You popped her in time."

Bayonetta scowled, creasing her eyebrows and snapping her fingers, causing her weapons to flicker and vanish.

"If I was a second later, you could be that bloody mess, there on the ground. Is that what you want?"

"Now you're just making excuses. Are you…_jealous_?"

Bayonetta shrugged him off, turning away.

"Preposterous. That's absolutely outrageous. If you're going to be this incredibly immature, I have no business associating myself with you."

Without another word, she strode off and slammed the door behind her, leaving a baffled, tongue-tied Luka in a pitch-black room with a dead angel.

_Well, this sucks. _

* * *

><p><em>Hope you liked it! The chapters should be coming out faster now that I have a grip on my life. <em>

_Please review? Please? I'll beg, if that's what you want. D:  
><em>


	6. Chapter 6

_Finally up! Hope you like this!_

_Another content warning, still non-explicit,__ but more graphic than_ _last time._

_Please read the author's note after the ending._

**Warning: Spoilers**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bayonetta or any related characters.

They are the property of SEGA/ Platinum Games.

* * *

><p>The door shut behind Bayonetta with a slam, separating her from Luka.<p>

_That stuck-up, infuriating excuse for a man-whore. What does he think he's doing? He'll find he won't be able to get away with such things in the future. No, I'll see to it that the slave learns to respect his mistress._

She sighed, rolled her eyes, and moved on.

_But I'll get to that later. First, I have some unfinished business to attend to._

Kicking open the door to her room, she strode over to the wall to the left of the bed. There, on the ground, invisible and inaccessible to mortals, lay a portal to Inferno. Bayonetta had bound it to her room for convenient access, and to annoy Jeanne's cats. The felines avoided that area and regarded it with a mixture of fear and annoyance.

The portal itself was identical in appearance to the insignias she had previously used to teleport to The Gates of Hell; an eye, drawn in red, surrounded by series of red circles and Demonic writing.

Bayonetta stepped onto the symbol. After a moment, her room began to waver, her bed melting into the floor and the walls shrinking away from her, zooming into the distance. For a moment she stood in dark nothingness, her feet planted on thin air. Then a rocky floor zoomed up under her feet, and a room began to take shape around her.

She stood in a diamond-shaped chamber, the walls and floor carved from cooled lava. From her position, Bayonetta could see every corner of her current area.

On the other side of the room, a large, jet-black canopy covered a bed of the same color, the dark coloration casting eerie shadows off the points on the wall. Clockwise from that, a small row of stairs led up to a throne of black rock, with human skulls tipping the armrests. Across from that, a large balcony, with giant fangs for guard rails, overlooked a river of red, the liquid fire constantly splashing up onto the terrace. Her feet rested on two different elevations of the uneven, jagged floor. Lava underneath the room caused the floor to glow a faint red, and fire could be seen through the cracks in the floor.

A large chandelier, human skulls making up the candlesticks, hung from the ceiling barely three feet above Bayonetta's head.

_Ugh. _This_ place. Wish there were more themes other than "Creepy, dark, and EVIILLLL" Let's just get this over with._

Tossing a ribbon over her shoulder, she stepped off her uneven portal towards the throne. No one else was in the room.

_Guess he's not here yet. Figures. I'll just have to wait._

Bayonetta rested her back against the wall, folding her arms over her chest and tapping her heels against the floor repeatedly. For a few moments, she watched the molten river flow through an opening in the stone below her. Suddenly losing patience, she stood up and stepped angrily over to the center of the room.

"Where is he?"

"I'm touched by your _concern_, sweetheart."

A rough hand grabbed her by the shoulder. Flinching, Bayonetta slapped it away and turned to face her contact.

Valros appeared, at first glance, to be an ordinary human, with unnaturally black skin. He stood a head taller than Bayonetta, reaching at least seven feet in height, and wore a grey tuxedo suit, complete with sports coat and tie. Several golden badges and medals dotted the lapel.

However, on further inspection, Valros was revealed for the demon that he was. Frighteningly white teeth flashed through his ebony lips when he spoke, his tongue a deep purple. His short, round nose fit in well with his excessive neck and facial muscles, and with the calloused hands and fingers that stuck out from his sleeves. Valros' eyes were red, with the pupils barely visible among the sea of scarlet, and he was brutish and burly in shape. He chuckled, his bass voice calm and disarming.

"What's the matter, honey? Surprised to see me?"

_It's a wonder he can sneak up on anyone. I'm not giving him an ounce of credit._

Bayonetta rolled her eyes, ignoring his stare.

"Please. Let's get on with it. I have places to be."

Valros waggled his finger a little too close for comfort.

"You're on my turf now. We start…and finish…when I'm ready. Is that understood?"

He was obviously expecting to get what he wanted, because his front wavered momentarily at her response.

"No, that's not understood! My contract does not state that I need to listen to your chatter all day, and frankly, even if it did, I wouldn't care!"

Bayonetta's outburst surprised even herself. She hadn't raised her voice, but it was still slightly strange how threatening she had come across as.

_What's getting into me?_

Putting the thought out of her mind, she finished her response.

"Now, I'm here for what I want, and that's to renew our agreement. I have no reason remain in this hole otherwise, so if you're not going to get it up, I'll find someone else who will."

Valros narrowed his eyes for a bit, pushing his face forward in an attempt to menace her. Bayonetta returned his gaze, her usual, teasing smile returning to her once again.

Leaning back, Valros wiped a fake tear from his eye.

"That's the problem, girlie. You see…this "agreement" of ours…it's not necessarily in my best interests anymore to keep it going."

The adrenaline Bayonetta had gained from her sudden outburst left her instantly.

"What?"

Valros reveled in the flash of shock that crossed her features.

"You see, ever since you did away with Jubileus, your souls' worth a lot more…shall we say, forcibly taken."

Bayonetta was fumbling now, trying to find a string she could pull. Without letting her desperation show, she grabbed her last lifeline.

"We had a deal. You would unconditionally accept any requests for prolonged lifespan in return for increased torture in the afterlife."

"Yeah…the thing is, souls that are forcefully taken from the body are so much…_richer_ than souls that are taken at the end of a contract. The latter are so resigned to their fate…it takes all the fun out of the equation. Plus, what a mortal did in life can also contribute to the value of their psyche. And right now…yours is pretty fucking profitable."

Valros did not actually contribute to her power in any way. He was a sort of demonic _lanista_. Demons would sign a contract with him, a contract that allowed Valros to sell their services to any mortals who wished for unholy power. In return, the demons would receive a cut of Valros' profits whenever he collected the souls of these victims.

The profits were generally of a greater value than if the demon had to do the whole thing themselves, but they could not choose who they granted powers to. Unbeknownst to them, or to Bayonetta, Valros frequently cheated his employees, retaining the better souls for himself. Souls could be sold to the servants of Queen Sheba in return for the rarer properties and materials of Inferno.

_Losing his support won't cost me my powers, but it will have a lot of angry demons who want my soul chasing after me. _

That was exactly what Valros had planned.

"Kings only keep their word when it suits them, sweetie. Be glad that I'm warning you. "

A cold fury built up in Bayonetta as she turned and left, already planning to give Rodin a visit to his bar. Just before she entered the portal, she heard Valros call out one last time.

"It's been a pleasure, babe. But business is business. Nothing personal-"

Anything else he was going to say fell upon deaf ears. Bayonetta was already gone.

* * *

><p>For an such a lucrative watering hole, The Gates of Hell was surprisingly small, with only four, round dining tables and a ten-foot long bar. The single window loomed over an ash-strewn plateau of rock and dirt. Not a single living thing stirred amidst the dust and sand, although the wind swirled the particles into organic patterns. A single, concealed doorway to the right of the bar led to the restrooms.<p>

Each of the eight tables seated no more than four people. Despite its profits and reputation, the place was almost always empty whenever Bayonetta chanced a visit. Today, however, it was packed with the scum and lowlifes of Inferno.

Bayonetta groaned.

_Great. The last thing I need is company._

She was in a particularly bitter mood, and wouldn't allow herself to be gawked today.

_Anyone with roving eyes is quickly going to find themselves missing their most valuable apparatus._

Her eyes scanned the crowd. Though she lacked any interest in speaking to any of them, her curiosity got the better of her.

A card game was being played at the table to her left. Both overweight players appeared to be cheating. In the span of seven seconds, Bayonetta caught one of them pull an ace out of his boot, and the other swap his twos out when he thought his opponent wasn't looking. She looked over to her right, and was surprised to see none other than Luka himself, his arm around a lady's shoulder.

_Interesting…how did he get here? Cheshire certainly doesn't have the magical prowess to use any gateways, so the only way he could've gotten here was if…_

Glancing around again, her suspicions were confirmed when she saw Jeanne chatting up a smartly-dressed gentleman over a pair of drinks. Bayonetta smiled knowingly to herself.

_Well, well, well…looks like the crazy cat lady finally decided to live a little. I'd love to spoil her evening, but I'll let her have her fun. Let's see what Cheshire's up to…_

Bayonetta strode forward, omitting her usual hip-waggle, but still caught the poker players ogling her. Sighing, she pulled out Sage and flashed it menacingly. They took the hint, quickly averted their gaze, and she concealed her pistol once again.

Without speaking, she sat herself down on an empty seat. He didn't react to her sitting down, so intent was her at dissecting the chest of the woman next to him with his eyes. After a moment, however, Luka looked up and suddenly saw the witch, sitting across from him.

"Oh, hey, Bayonetta. Didn't expect you to be here." Luka secured his grip on his companion's shoulder.

"You were gone for a couple of hours, so Jeanne decided to take me here with her."

Bayonetta disguised her shock at his answer.

_Several hours? That means it must be at least morning of the day after his…incident. How did my trip take that long? It only felt like a few minutes had passed._

She shrugged it off. She couldn't help but notice that Luka had, this entire time, not budged his arm. Bayonetta felt something bitter grow up in her chest, though which emotion it was, she couldn't quite place.

"Fascinating. Who's your friend?" She replied curtly.

Luka didn't notice her tone.

"Bayonetta, this is Julia. Julia, this is Bayonetta."

"Julia", if that was her real name, was most definitely a succubus. Though she lacked the devil horns, goat legs, and tail that usually defined that breed of demoness, Bayonetta could think of no other explanation for the presence of such a tramp in a demonic bar.

Julia was wore a purple, unzipped leather jacket over a tight grey t-shirt that bared her midriff. The shirt itself was showed off a drawing of a serpentine dragon, its tail crawling out from the bottom of her deep V-neck. Generous cleavage lay on display, distracting from the dark brown complexion of her facial features. Her brown hair cascaded over her shoulders and cut off just under her breasts.

"Hello, _Bayonetta_. So nice to see you."

Her voice was smug, but dripped venom at the mention of the witch's name.

_She's probably never heard of me, so it must be her ingrained, bitchy reaction to other females. Someone needs to put her in her place. That someone…is not going to be me._

Bayonetta tapped her glasses in acknowledgement, but otherwise didn't respond.

_How is she going to react to someone not rising to her bait?_

Julia's eyes shone with rage for a moment, and the catfight was on.

"So tell me_..._Bayonetta. How exactly do you know Luka here?" She brushed the hair on Luka's forehead back and grinned, tiny fangs poking out from her full red lips.

_Well, no denying it now. Cheshire's caught himself a demonic hooker._

Bayonetta sighed internally.

_Luka, when will you learn I'm not always going to drag you out of these ludicrous situations?_

"We're…acquaintances. I'm more concerned as to what you're doing to that poor man."

Luka's eyes had begun glazing over, so intently was he staring at Julia's bountiful mammaries. Drool had begun to pool and drip down onto his shirt, as his lower jaw was hung limply, and his tongue beginning to flop over his lip.

Julia's cordial attitude vanished. She hissed, baring her teeth and unsheathing claws. Presumably, now that Luka was no longer in a position to listen to either of them, she felt safe enough o reveal her true demeanor.

"Look here, bitch." She spat at Bayonetta.

"This creature is my catch, my prey. I won't let you take that from me."

She stood up, leaning towards her enemy. Her green eyes began swimming, the pupils disappearing to reveal white, soulless sockets.

"If you're concerned about his well being, don't be. I _always _take good care of my toys. Whether or not they break under the pressure is another story…"

"Julia" chuckled darkly.

"Why don't you get out of here? Even once he comes to, he'll go along with me willingly. My kind is what every man dreams of…you, on the other hand, are nothing. Leave, while I still allow you to live."

The witch smiled back at Julia disarmingly, though menace laced her every word.

"No, _you_ listen. This is the second time is as many days I've had to save this sap from someone like you. Maybe this time, I'll let her leave alive."

Julia began laughing, but suddenly felt cold metal pressing against her throat.

Bayonetta cocked Sage against the succubus's neck, looking at Julia over her glasses and brushing the left side of her hair over her ear.

"I'll be happy to show you what happened to the last one who tried something."

The demoness gulped, her esophagus pressing against the barrel of the gun. Slowly, she stood up and backed away, the weapon trained on her head the entire time.

"This isn't over, cunt."

Bayonetta smirked, the left side of her mouth curling upwards.

"I'm sure it isn't. Sod off."

She gestured toward the exit with her right hand. Without averting her gaze, Julia stormed off towards the exit, and disappeared in a burst of violet sparks.

Nodding with smug satisfaction, Bayonetta turned to face Luka. He was still under the succubus's spell.

"Now…what to do with you…"

* * *

><p>Luka awoke with a start. Pressing a palm to his forehead, he rolled to the side and promptly fell off the couch, banging his head on the coffee table.<p>

"Argh!"

Luka struggled up, ignoring the throbbing in the back of his head.

"Morning. Did you have a nice night?"

Bayonetta sat on the table behind him, stirring a cup of chamomile tea with a spoon.

"How was your nap?"

Luka struggled to formulate a response, but was waves of pain suddenly shot through his back and he doubled over, clutching his stomach. Images of brown hair, green eyes, and chocolate breasts flooded his thoughts. Struggling back into a standing position, he croaked out an answer.

"Wha-happened?"

Bayonetta tapped her chin with a white-clothed finger.

"Where shall I begin…A three hundred-or-so year old demoness attempted to mind control you, make you her slave, and rape you. We settled our differences nice and amicably, and I took you back here. And right now, just after dinner, you've woke up. Bravo."

_You know what…I'm not even shocked anymore. That Joy inoculated me against anything the world could try to surprise me with. _

Luka, however, said nothing out loud, pain beginning to rip through him again. Fire danced up and down his spine as the spell slowly bled from his system, causing him to see stars. He started to sway, and fell forward.

Bayonetta caught him before he hit the ground, cradling his head with one hand and his thighs with the other. Holding him in this position, she started up the stairs.

_Too close to retching to really get a nice look…ug…_

Without a word, the witch strode up impatiently the stairs, shoving protesting felines out of the way as she went. Not a single sultry, clever quip left her lips as she kicked open the door to her bedroom and almost dropped Luka onto the bed.

* * *

><p><em>According to demon hunters, the aftereffects of succubic possession includes vomiting, dizziness, and slurred speech. Guess even mortals can be right sometimes.<em>

He was too unstable for a Red Hot Shot, so Bayonetta was resorting to more…primitive medicine. Rodin occasionally stashed a supply of anti-demon weapons, tonics, and salves. The only one that Bayonetta had ever purchased was labeled as a "Succubus repellant. Perfect for holding onto your life and soul! Proven to dissuade even high-class demons!"

There was a little something on the back about the daily limit and possible side effects, but Bayonetta didn't bother. Popping open the blue pill bottle, she counted how many she had.

_A dozen. She seemed pretty old, which usually equals pretty powerful, so three should be enough._

Luka resisted, briefly, but she blocked his nose and his mouth instinctively opened. The pills were barely larger than chickpeas, so it didn't take much to force them down Luka's throat. He stiffened, then exhaled deeply. Color returned to his eyes, and he began to murmur something under his breath, his lips barely moving.

"What was that, kitten?" Bayonetta cupped a hand around her left ear and leaned in towards Luka.

He spoke up again, his voice now having returned to its full capacity.

"I said-heheh-you've finally taken me to bed…in a manner of speaking…ha…heh…heh…"

* * *

><p>Luka trailed off, cowed by her glare. The witch stood up and paced back and forth from one end of the bed to another, closing her door on the way to the foot of the furniture. She stood there for a moment, biting her lip lightly. But her eyes were not on him; she stared through him, at the wall.<p>

_She's...I don't know…_

* * *

><p><em>Oh, Luka. Your adolescent sense of humor is something I would normally find completely repulsive. So why is it that this time…you're-<em>

* * *

><p><em>She's just standing there…what is she-<em>

Without warning, Bayonetta flung herself across the bed, landing squarely on Luka's lap and knocking the wind out of the hapless mortal. Luka couldn't respond with his mouth full of hairsuit.

_What the hell is she doing?_

* * *

><p><em>What the hell am I doing?<em>

In that moment of indecision, Bayonetta realized what she had been feeling she saw Luka with the succubus-when she killed the Joy he was…enjoying.

_Ugh. I hate puns._

It was a sickening, abhorrent, frequently demonized emotion.

Jealousy.

Not the protective kind of jealousy, either.

This was possession. She had, unconsciously, set her sights upon him at some point in her recent life. The jealousy she felt when she kept other women away from Luka was not as a friend, protecting him from unsafe females. It was a message to other women who would hope to seduce him.

And now, Bayonetta's mind had realized what her actions had been making so obvious (at least, to herself) for so long.

_This dick is mine, bitches._

And boy, was she going to enjoy it.

* * *

><p>Luka was stunned.<p>

_This is not her. This is an angel-this is a disguise. Just blow her off, Redgrave._

Grumbling under his breath, he attempted to shove Bayonetta away of him. Surprisingly, unlike the Joy, she didn't concede. Rather, she pushed his hand away, shoved his back against the wall, and continued her amorous advance towards him.

_Well, at least I know it's her. But why?_

She flew forward for a kiss, without waiting for his approval, and Luka unwittingly followed her lead. Their tongues snaked and flicked around each other's mouths, his pink organ a contrast to her rosy, violet muscle. From behind his head, she slid her gloves off with ease that could have only come with practice, tossing them aside. Her legs, lying next to his waist in a kneeling position, kicked off her heels and her purple nails flashed in the light briefly, flaunting a new manicure.

Flinging a stray ribbon over her shoulder, Bayoneta ran her fingers up his clothed arms, still locking him in a now unwilling kiss. Reaching the shoulder of his coat, she secured a grip on both sides, she lifted herself slightly from his lap and threw his coat-and the shirt underneath-over his head. The garments landed directly on top of Luka's face, blocking his vision.

* * *

><p><em>At this point, I don't care. He's just tagging along for the trip. Whether or not he chooses to have fun is up to him. It'll be best for the both of us if he just enjoys the ride…pun non intended.<em>

She glossed over his chest, drinking in the sight of his topless form.

He certainly wasn't muscular-in fact, compared to some of her (ahem) "other indulgences", he was downright puny. Still, obviously muscle molded hills along his arms and chest. Bayonetta didn't oogle men-it was always the other way around.

_Still, he keeps himself in passable shape. Maybe I'll go out of my way to make this all the better for him…second to myself, of course. _

She slowed down a little bit, her libido now under control. Bringing her face up to his chest, she lightly nipped at and pricked his nipples, feeling the buds-already tense from the cold-accommodate her action nicely, her targeted area coming away dotted with soft indents. She lowered himself again, now even with his waist.

Bayonetta hooked a hand into the sheath of the belt and pulled, not bothering to undo the buckle first. After a millisecond of resistance, the jeans popped off, falling off the side of the bed. His shoes, laces still tied, followed suit.

Turning back to his boxers, Bayonetta raised her eyebrows at the sight and shook her head ever so slightly. Luka, feeling the tension, tossed the clothes off his head, saw what had caught her attention, and stared awkwardly at his groin.

* * *

><p><em>Apparently I chose the wrong day to wear pink underwear…go, me…<em>

But she had already gotten over the shock, and kept up her erotic offensive.

The boxers, mere 100% cotton, made in China, was no match for the strength of a horny, impatient witch. Bayonetta grasped the waist, and tore her hand away.

Fully exposed, Luka felt a tad vulnerable, and he shivered. Bayonetta, however, eyed her prize hungrily, drawing a purple tongue across her lower lip as she purred. She reached a hand out, but Luka stopped her with a groan, speaking for the first time.

"Um…uh..should we be…"

Bayonetta placed a hand on his lips, shushing him. Once he was silenced, she grasped _him_ fully with her left hand.

"They'll be _plenty _of time for pillow talk afterwards."

She brought her head down, and Luka knew perfection.

* * *

><p>Luka didn't know how long he would last. He couldn't tell how many times he had managed to stay upright when he thought it was over. He couldn't remember how long they went at it, or how many times they released.<p>

_What I do know is that I'm the happiest fucking man on the planet. _

It was still dark outside when Bayonetta slid off his slick, flaccid member for the last time, not the slightest exertion visible anywhere on her athletic, creamy white skin. Staying on top of her partner, she propped herself up on his solid shoulders and rested on top of him, her breasts pressing against his chest as she crossed her arms under her head. Bayonetta continued to hold Luka under her body, restricting his movement, but at least it was a sort of half-cuddle. Luka tried to worm an arm around her waist, but she slipped through his grasp, bringing herself up so her forehead was lightly pressed against his chin. He gave up and let his arms lie against his sides.

_Um...awkward?_

Not according to Bayonetta. Though she didn't appear visibly different, Luka could just…feel…content rolling off of her in waves. The slight brightening of her eye; the tiny relaxation in her shoulders-she oozed satisfaction.

_Well, at least my sexual prowess hasn't faded since my last lay. Which reminds me…_

"Um. Hey."

It was the first words he-or either of them-had spoken since his outburst at the beginning. Bayonetta turned to face him, her eyes twinkling with false innocence. When she spoke, she acted as if they had not just explored each other for hours.

"Yes, Luka?"

"Do you have a computer? I, uh, need to show you something."

Her left brow rose quizzically, but she shrugged and snapped her fingers above his head. A 14-inch laptop of indiscernible graphical capability molded into view next to him on the bed, logged on and already displaying an empty Google search bar.

Reaching over, he quickly typed a few words into the search bar, selected his desired option, and paused the video before it had a chance to start.

"This is something I vowed I'd show you once I finally…you know."

Bayonetta looked at him with hilarity stamped across her features, but nodded her head in the direction of the computer.

_Well, here we go._

Luka pressed "Play".

"Sometimes…(Ooooh!)"

"Something beautiful happens in this world…(Akon…)"

"You don't know how to express yourself…(…and Lonely Island!)"

"You just gotta sing!"

"I just had sex (Hey!)!"

"And it felt so good (Felt so good!)!"

"A wom…"

Bayonetta was upon him before much more time had passed.

It was the first, and only time, anybody had ever had sex to The Lonely Island.

* * *

><p><em>Thanks for reading. I Just Had Sex belongs to thelonelyisland. I don't own it, blah blah blah...<br>_

_Now for the news. I'm going to be taking a short (read: short) break from this story to do a few things. _

_Firstly, I need to storyboard what's going to happen next. I, uh, don't really know what's happening in the next chapter. Whoops._

_Secondly, I want to focus on my League of Legends fic, maybe get out two or three chapters of that before returning to this._

_I won't be gone for too long; expect more Bayonetta in less than two months. I know it sounds like a long time, but I want to make sure it doesn't suck. Sorry!  
><em>

_ Sorry for the wait!  
><em>

_As always, please please PLEASE review. It means_ _the world to me._


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